


All The Stars And Bleeding Hearts

by torakowalski



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Notting Hill AU.  In which Jesse runs a bookstore, Andrew is a famous film star and they’re both faily dorks in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Stars And Bleeding Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, I told harriet_vane that this fandom needed a Notting Hill AU and then she won me at help_japan and told me I could _write_ a Notting Hill AU and, well, I did. This is entirely and completely for her (and would be even if it weren’t her auction fic) ♥ Oh and I also made her American-pick it, because I’m awesome that way.

Jesse is elbow deep in first editions and rarities, trying not to let his supplier see quite how badly he wants to sweep them all up into his arms and buy all of them, when his cell phone buzzes on the table.

“Sorry,” Jesse says, only lifting one hand off the cover of the first American edition of the _Hound of the Baskervilles_ , the pages papery and splintering at the edges and the warm, reassuring smell of old book rising up to surround him.

The text is from Emma:

_taking lnch early. spdrman2 filming dwntwn. leaving abi in charge. :)_

“Shit,” Jesse says then looks up at Mr Glover, who’s the oldest and frailest human being he has ever met.  He has the look of someone who could be knocked off his feet by a careless curse word.  “Sorry.  Again.”

Jesse stands up, stuffing his cell into his satchel and pulling out his chequebook.  He’d like to pretend to negotiate here, but they both know he’s going to buy everything Mr Glover is offering; he always does.  

“I have to go,” he says, signing the bottom of the cheque and dating it before sliding it over to Mr Glover.  “Just add in the amount and have them shipped over to the store, please?”

Mr Glover takes the cheque and folds it, tucking it into his shirt pocket and looking happy.  “Always a pleasure, Mr Eisenberg,” he says and Jesse knows that he thinks Jesse is the worst businessman ever, but Jesse doesn’t really care.

“You too,” Jesse says, even though he’s not sure that makes sense.  “I’ll see you next month.”

Mr Glover nods solemnly.  “You will.”  He pats the 1918 edition of _King’s Solomon’s Mines_ , fingertips brushing the red leather cover and leaving just the faintest sheen of oil.  Jesse tries not to wince.  

“Maybe I’ll just take that one now,” Jesse says, grabbing the book and tucking it into his bag.  On second thoughts, he takes _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ too.  And a really beautiful, though not hugely rare, copy of _Tell Me The Truth About Love_.  “Can you box up the rest and...”

“Yes.” Mr Glover waves him out of the main room and opens the door for him pointedly.  “You’ll have them in three working days.  As usual.”

“Right, sorry,” Jesse agrees before the door shuts in his face.  Jesse isn’t offended; he has new books in his bag and more on the way, it’d take a lot of offend him right now.

Which doesn’t mean he’s not pissed at Emma.  He left her in charge of the store for one morning and she left to watch a movie being filmed?  Like they don’t film movies every day of the week in some part of the city.  

He pulls out his cell again and calls her but she doesn’t answer so he calls the store while carefully belting his satchel into the passenger side of his car.

“Dust Jacket Books, winner of Brooklyn’s hidden gem award 2009 and 2010,” Abigail’s voice chirps and Jesse stares at the steering wheel in horror before managing to choke out, “Never answer the phone like that again.   _Please_.”

“Oh, hi, Jesse,” Abigail says cheerfully.  “Emma said if you called I had to tell you to stop worrying and keep perving over your old books like a weirdo.” She laughs.  “That’s a direct quote by the way.”

Jesse has no doubt about that.  “Please tell me she hasn’t really left you there alone,” he begs.  Since Abigail is only seventeen, Jesse isn’t even sure that’s legal.  Besides which, Abigail doesn’t even work for him; she’s just a kid who comes in and reads in the corner after school.

Jesse appreciates kids who like to read, so he’s never chased her out.  That doesn’t mean he’s hired her.

“It’s okay,” Abigail says like she doesn’t see the problem here at all.  “If anyone comes in looking for _Twilight_ , I’ll make sure they leave with Holly Black or someone else on the approved list.  I know the rules.”

“That’s not really the point,” Jesse tries but he knows he’s lost.  His only other option is to tell Abigail to shut the store until he gets back but he hates shutting the store; people should always have access to books when they want them.  If he could, he’d stay open twenty-four hours a day, but apparently there are laws about that.

“Jesse, Jesus,” Abigail sighs which is a sign she’s been hanging out with Emma far too much.  Jesse may have to think about rescuing her.  She used to be so cute.  “Buy yourself some lunch.  The store will be fine for a couple of hours.”

No way is Jesse leaving Abigail alone in the store for a couple of hours.  Lunch does sound good though.  “I’ll be a half hour,” he tells her.  “Call me if _anything_ happens.”

There’s a pause then, “What if Justin comes in?”

“Then kill him,” Jesse tells her seriously then, “Wait, did he just come in?”  Justin likes to touch things; he’s worse that a five year old for leaving sticky fingerprints on Jesse’s beautiful books.

“No, of course not,” Abigail says brightly.  He’s sure she’s lying.  “Bye, Jesse.  See you later.”

Jesse sighs and leans his forehead on the steering wheel for a minute before putting the car in gear.  “Don’t worry,” he tells the new books, which are probably cowering in fear right now.  “I’ll put you in the restricted section.  Justin hasn’t been back there since he realised that it wasn’t where I kept the porn.”

Jesse should probably worry that he talks to books, but he’s done it all his life and no one’s had him committed yet, so he just takes off the parking break and rolls forward into traffic.  

***

Most of Jesse wants to abandon his car on the side of the road and race to the bookstore as soon as he gets close enough, but the rest of him is hungry, so he parks in his usual space and crosses the street to his favourite coffee shop instead.

“Jesse, yo, Jesse,” Joe the Coffee Shop Guy says, leaning half over the counter to greet him.  “Did you find my book?”

Joe’s a college student with what seems to be an allergy to the library so he always orders all his text books through Jesse then sells them back to him at the end of the semester.  It works for him and it doesn’t hurt Jesse so it’s a good system.

“Yeah,” Jesse tells him.  “It should be in tomorrow.”

Joe makes a kissy face at him.  “You’re a gentleman,” he says.  “Coffee?”

“Yes.” Jesse leans against the counter, looking down at the display.  “And two cream cheese bagels.”

“Is one for the lovely Emma?” Joe asks, dropping two into the slicer.  “One came out of the oven kind of heart shaped, do you think she’d notice?”

“She wouldn’t notice,” Jesse tells him, because that’s kinder than saying that if she did notice, she’d laugh.  “And anyway, it’s for Abigail.”

“Ah.” Joe grins.  “In that case.” He slides a couple of brownies out of the display and drops them into a paper bag.  “On the house.”

“Thanks.” Jesse takes the brownies and tucks them under one elbow - he doesn’t want to put them in his satchel in case they get oil on his new books.  He pulls out a ten dollar bill, drops it on the counter and lets Joe load him up with the bagels and coffees.  

“You gonna be okay with all that?” Joe asks, coming around the counter and holding the door open.

“Yeah, sure.” Jesse feels the brownies start to slide and clamps his arm down tighter.  Elbow prints will add flavour, he’s sure.  “The store’s two minutes away.”

“Two minutes is a long way,” Joe warns but he can’t leave the store so he has to let Jesse go.  

Jesse hurries around the corner, concentrating on not dropping the bagels and not letting the brownies slide again.  He figures Abigail will be happier with a crushed lunch than a sidewalk-splattered one.

It’s safe to say Jesse’s not exactly looking where he’s going, which is why he doesn’t realise that he’s walking straight into someone coming the other way until he’s, yeah, _walked straight into someone coming the other way_.

“Shit,” Jesse snaps, watching in slow motion as one cup of coffee crunches straight into the guy’s chest and the other falls to the floor, exploding over both their shoes.  

Jesse sets his bag safely down out of the way of the spilled coffee and drops the bagels and brownies on top.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Jesse straightens up and winces, sneaking a look at the guy.   He’s got thick brown hair and warm brown eyes, which is convenient because they match the huge brown coffee stain splashed across the front of his thin white shirt.

“I’m...” The guy shakes his head, pulling his shirt away from his body and making a face.  “No, that’s all right, don’t worry about it.”

Shit, he’s British.  Not only has Jesse just thrown coffee at a total stranger, he’s thrown coffee at a _tourist_.

“It’s not all right,” Jesse says, because the guy is making faces and flapping his shirt and, fuck, Jesse knows how hot Joe makes his coffee.  “Are you burned?”

“Um.” The guy flaps some more.  “No, I don’t think so.” He tries to let his shirt drop back against his body and grimaces.  “Maybe a little.”

Oh god.  Jesse is a terrible person.  “I’m so sorry,” he says again.  “Can I give you a ride somewhere?  Are you staying near here?”

The guy has stopped staring at his shirt and is now staring at Jesse.  “No,” he says slowly, “No, that’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, you can’t go around like that all day.”  Jesse isn’t usually this pushy; it only really happens when he’s freaked out.  “Okay, this is going to sound bad, but my apartment is literally right over there.” He points at the curtained windows above Dust Jacket, which is three storefronts down from where they’re standing.  “You can take a shower.” No, that really is creepy.  “Or I could just lend you a clean shirt.”

The guy is still shaking his head, darting looks at the store then Jesse then back again.  He probably thinks Jesse is a serial killer, great.  

“I think I’m just going to go,” he says, “but thank you.”

Okay, well Jesse tried; he’s not going to frogmarch anyone into his shower.  “Okay,” he says, nodding.  He digs a pen out of his pocket along with a folded napkin from Joe’s coffee shop.  “Look, write down your name and address and I’ll mail you a new shirt.”

“There’s no need to - ” The guy stops, looking closely at Jesse.  Jesse tries not to feel intimidated or make any stupid faces or anything.  “You don’t know what my name...” The guy trails off suddenly and he smiles.  He was always hot, but with his eyes lit up like that, he’s _really_ attractive.  Jesse isn’t supposed to have those thoughts about people he’s scalded.  “You know what, I’d really like to borrow a shirt if the offer still stands?”

“Really?  Okay.” Jesse has no idea what he said or did to change his mind, but he feels better now that he knows he can fix his clumsiness.  He pulls out his key and heads for the door that leads up to his apartment.  There’s a door through the bookstore too, but if Justin’s still in there, Jesse doesn’t want to troop this poor guy past him.  Covering him with coffee was probably bad enough for one day.

He waves him through the door and says, “I’m Jesse, by the way.”

The guy hesitates for a second then, “Andrew,” he says and laughs softly.  Jesse has no idea what’s funny.  

“Um.” He ushers Andrew toward the stairs.  “My apartment’s just up there.  I promise not to kill you or anything.”

Andrew smiles at him.  He still looks kind of thrown, but Jesse is too so that’s understandable.  “I’m not worried,” he says, “You already tried to assassinate me with coffee so I know the score.”

Jesse bounces on his toes then tells himself to stop that immediately and leads the way up the stairs.  “Maybe that was just the beginning,” he throws back over his shoulder.  

“I’ll take my chances,” Andrew promises.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Jesse points out the door to the bathroom, standing half open at the end of the short corridor past the tiny living room.

“There’s a wash cloth by the sink,” he says, “If you want to clean up or anything.” He realises suddenly that, if Andrew takes him up on that, he’s going to be shirtless and wet in Jesse’s apartment in a couple of minutes. He turns away quickly. “I’ll find you a clean shirt.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” Andrew calls after him and Jesse waves over his shoulder, not turning around.

He listens to the sound of water running in the bathroom and concentrates on sticking his head in his closet, hunting for something that might fit Andrew. He isn’t used to having hot guys in his apartment - Justin totally doesn’t count - especially not hot British guys who are soon going to be wearing Jesse’s clothes.

A couple of minutes later, there’s a quiet knock on the bedroom door. “Jesse?”

Jesse spins around. He’s found an oversized NYU hoodie which he thrusts out to Andrew before reeling it back in and saying, “I know this isn’t as nice as the shirt you were wearing, but I don’t think you’ll fit in any of my dress shirts.” Andrew is taller than Jesse and has really nice shoulders. Jesse tries hard not to look at his shoulders.

“This is great,” Andrew says, taking it from Jesse and smiling gratefully at him. “I can pick up another shirt when I get back on s... When I get back to work.”

“Okay.” Jesse forces himself to let go of the hoodie and forces himself _not_ to look at Andrew’s chest which is very bare and very much right in front of Jesse. Then he notices that there’s a pale pink mark over his sternum and spreading to his left peck, which has to be from the coffee. “Shit, you _are_ burned.”

Andrew shakes his head, holding the hoodie against his chest. “It’s fine. Honestly. It doesn’t even hurt.” He shakes the hoodie out and shrugs into it, smoothing his hair down afterward when it stays sticking straight up. He rolls his shoulders and smiles when the fabric falls into place. It looks so much better on him than it does on Jesse. As does a lack of shirt actually, come to think of it. “Thank you.”

Jesse swallows hard. “No problem.” He shakes himself. “You, um. You said you were working? I guess you need to get back?”

Andrew glances at his watch then swears softly. “I really should. I’m so late.” He tugs on the bottom of the sweatshirt and smiles up at Jesse from under his eyelashes. “You’ve been great,” he says, “I’ll bring this back to you.”

“You really don’t - ” Jesse gets as far as saying, but then Andrew’s leaning forward and brushing a kiss across Jesse’s cheek and all of Jesse’s words run out.

Must be a British thing, Jesse thinks dazedly, then: maybe he should move to Britain.

He clears his throat. “Um, you’re welcome?”

Andrew flashes him another smile then turns away, clattering down the stairs. “Sorry to run out on you,” he calls back.

Jesse follows him more slowly only to find that Andrew’s waiting for him at the door, standing half inside the stairwell and half out on the sidewalk. He hands Jesse’s his bag and the beat-up paper bags that hopefully still contain something lunch-like even though Jesse had apparently just left them out on the street.

He left _books unattended_ for this guy; Andrew’s eyes or his accent or his slightly lopsided smile must be hypnotic, that’s the only explanation.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Andrew says just as Jesse hears the bell ring next door, mean that someone is going in or out the store. He hopes it’s in and that Abigail hasn’t had to serve anyone while he’s been gone.

“Sure,” Jesse says even though he really doubts that Andrew is actually going to bother to bring his shirt back to him. “Sorry again about the coffee thing.”

Andrew shakes his head. “It was worth it,” he says inexplicably then turns around, only to nearly run into Justin who must have been the person who made the bell ring.

“Sorry, dude,” Justin says then his eyes go wide and the end of _dude_ somehow becomes the beginning of “Holy _shit_.”

Andrew shoots Jesse a quick, unreadable look. “Hi,” he says to Justin and, “Bye, Jesse,” and then he’s gone.

Justin grabs Jesse’s arm. They’re both watching Andrew leave although Jesse has no idea why Justin is or why his face has such a weird expression on it.

“Ow?” Jesse says, trying and failing to shake Justin off. “What’s the matter?”

“What? Why? How?” Justin shakes his head quickly. “Dude, what the fuck was Spider-man doing in your apartment?”

Jesse frowns so hard that he actually feels his eyebrows hit the ends of his eyelashes. He pulls Justin around to face him, checking his pupils. “If you’ve been smoking up in my store,” he starts but Justin waves him off. His eyes do look fine.

“Jesse, Jesse, don’t front. That was Andrew Garfield.” He flaps a hand. “Andrew Fucking Garfield in your apartment, wearing what looked a hell of a lot like your old college sweatshirt. Fuck, dude, tell me you’re banging Spider-man? _Please_.”

“I don’t...” Jesse has no idea what he’s talking about. Sure, Justin knows everyone, but Jesse hadn’t realised that he actually knew _everyone_. “You know him?” If Justin has slept with Andrew then Jesse may just kill himself. Justin only sleeps with guys once in a while, but he always seems to accidentally pick the ones who Jesse really likes.

“Do I - ?” Justin starts to say then cuts himself off, staring at Jesse. “You actually don’t know who he is, do you?”

“He’s the guy I spilled coffee all over ten minutes ago,” Jesse says impatiently. “But I don’t know anything else about him, no.”

“You spilled coffee all over Spider-man?” Justin echoes, sounding strangled. “Wow, Jesse, only you.”

Before Jesse can get really annoyed, Justin tightens his grip on his arm and pulls him out onto the sidewalk and then through the door into the store.

Abigail looks up and waves at them both but she doesn’t get to say anything before Justin is pushing Jesse around the counter and swinging himself up to sit on it, legs dangling between her and Jesse.

“Abi,” he says, pointing at her. “Andrew Garfield 101, go.”

“Um,” she says but then gamely tries to give him what he wants. “Actor. British. Late twenties. Stared in _Boy A, Back Roads, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnasus, The Amazing Spider-man_. Currently in New York filming the Spider-man sequel and being stalked by Emma and... What?” She stops, looking annoyed when Justin makes a negative buzzer noise over her last point. “He’s not being stalked by Emma? Oh my god, has she been arrested or something?”

Justin shakes his head. “Nope, Emma hasn’t had a chance to stalk him, since our very own Jesse had him locked away in his apartment for an undisclosed amount of time.” The look he’s giving Jesse is strangely impressed and Jesse wonders what he thinks happened up there.

Abigail makes a strangled, high-pitch squeaking sound and Jesse shakes his head at both of them.

“What are you _talking_ about? He’s just a guy. I spilled my coffee on him so I loaned him a clean shirt. I really don’t think he can be whoever you think he is.”

“Not whoever,” Justin says, leaning down and looking him seriously and soulfully in the eyes, like even if Andrew is some movie actor, it should matter to Jesse or something. “Andrew Garfield. He’s like, he’s seriously famous, Jess.”

“Was this him?” Abigail interrupts, holding out her iPhone to Jesse. She’s pulled up something called Google Images and Jesse is faced with row after row of someone who definitely _could_ be his Andrew. Not that Andrew is Jesse’s or anything; that was just a figure of speech.

He takes the phone from her and scrolls along until he comes to a pictures of Andrew, shirtless in front of some ugly 70s print wallpaper. Jesse had that bare chest in front of him less than ten minutes ago and it’s imprinted on his memory forever; he’s convinced.

“Oh,” he says, handing the phone back to Abigail. She looks at the photo he stopped on but doesn’t say anything about it. Jesse likes her.

“Oh,” Justin asks. “Is that all you have to say? You just met Andrew Garfield.”

Something about the way everyone keeps saying Andrew’s full name sets Jesse’s teeth on edge. “There’s nothing to say. I spilled coffee on him, gave him a fresh shirt and that was it. It’s over now.” He drops the battered paper bags on the counter and says, “Have some lunch. I have to make space for the new books.”

He ignores their protests and picks up his satchel, moving to the back of the store and trying hard not to dwell on anything. He’d known already Andrew wasn’t actually going to bring his sweatshirt back, that Jesse wasn’t going to see him again. The fact that he’s apparently a famous enough movie actor that even Emma is impressed by him just means that Jesse was right.

In fact, it’s good that Jesse won’t be seeing him again. People who kiss strangers on the cheek are not Jesse’s sort of people. The whole encounter was strange. Strange and baffling, slightly inappropriate and... completely disarming.

Fuck.

Jesse shoves _Five Quarters of The Orange_ back into place more roughly than he should then immediately apologises and pulls it out, checking the cover for any tears. It’s fine but Jesse still smooths his palm over it a couple of times just to make sure.

He’s flustered, he thinks, and hates that. He’s not allowed near the books when he’s flustered so he pulls _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ out of his bag and curls up in one of the corner armchairs. There’s nothing that can’t be cured by an hour or two of reading.

***

Three days later and Jesse is no longer thinking about hot, apparently famous British guys who steal his shirt and kiss his cheek. Mr Glover delivered Jesse’s new books yesterday evening and Jesse has been knee deep in delicious, rare book goodness ever since.

He may be high on the smell of must by now, but it’s worth it.

It’s ten a.m. on a Thursday morning so it’s almost a surprise when Jesse hears the bell ring. Emma’s in class and Abigail’s in school and Jesse hasn’t had any customers yet today. Jesse much prefers it when he doesn’t have customers, honestly. It’s just his accountant who doesn’t.

“Hello?” calls a voice and it’s... Jesse sits up so quickly he nearly falls over a pile of unsorted books. The voice is potentially familiar.

“Yes, hi, hang on,” Jesse says and smacks dust off his pants while making his way out of the stacks.

He stops when he gets within sight of the counter because wow, yes, he did recognise that voice.

“Hi again,” Andrew says, beaming at him. He’s holding something that looks like Jesse’s hoodie, folded up and pressed against his chest. “How are you?”

“Hi. Um.” Jesse waves awkwardly then stuffs his hand in his pocket. “This is my bookstore.”

Andrew’s smile stretches slowly across his face. “Yes, I know, you mentioned.”

Oh, Jesse thinks, so not just the world’s most ridiculous coincidence then. “Did I? I mean, of course I did.” His bookstore is all Jesse ever talks about, he’s been told.

“So, I was just - ” Andrew starts to hold out Jesse’s hoodie then stops when the door opens behind him. Two customers in two minutes; it’s like a record. Well, one customer and one Andrew, which it still counts.

“I’ll be... I’m going to look around,” Andrew says quickly, scooting behind the corner display before the girl who’s just come in can see him properly. Jesse tries not to find that weird.

“Hello?” says the girl and Jesse stops staring after Andrew to try to smile professionally at her instead. Emma always hits him when she sees him trying that; apparently his professional smile makes him look like he’s craving brains.

“Can I help you?” Jesse asks. Serving customers is his least favourite part of owning a bookstore but he isn’t terrible at it. Sometimes. When they pick decent books.

“Hi, yes, I’m looking for _PS, I Love You_?” She stands on tiptoes and peers around the store like a signal flare is going to rise up and show her where to look.

Jesse points to the left. “Under A for Ahern, just down there.”

“Oh, no, right.” She’s still peering; he wonders if he was unclear. “I wanted the DVD?”

Jesse blinks. “This is a bookstore.” He’s sure it says so outside. It did when he came in this morning, anyway.

“Right, right.” She keeps nodding. “But you sell DVDs too, right?”

“Why would we...? No.” Jesse walks around the counter and opens the door for her. “Try Pegasus Videos on Union,” he says, pointing her in sort of the right direction. He closes the door before she can say anything else and turns away, muttering, “And don’t ask them if they sell kittens.”

Behind him, Andrew laughs and Jesse turns around, blushing. He’d forgotten Andrew was there.

“In her defence,” Andrew says, still grinning, “Lots of bookshops do sell DVDs now, and CDs and stationery and things.”

“Well, not this one.” Jesse shudders. “Movies are the bane of my life, they always fuck up the story and - ” He breaks off guiltily, realising that Andrew probably doesn’t share Jesse’s opinions on books versus movies.

“Go on,” Andrew says, circling a finger in the air encouragingly and not looking at all offended.

“It’s just...” Jesse deflates, embarrassed. He rubs the back of his neck. “I have no objection in theory to movie adaptations, it just always seems to me that they cut out the parts that matter and sensationalise the drama.”

“What are the parts that matter?” Andrew asks. He’s leaning in and he looks fascinated. Jesse can’t be sure, but he doesn’t _think_ he’s making fun of him.

Jesse swallows. “The heart,” he says, lamely. He can talk about books for days, he has a Masters in it for fuck’s sake, but something about Andrew’s big, interested eyes makes him stutter. “People don’t care about books because sometimes shit explodes, they care about how they make them feel. That’s the part that no one ever seems to want to capture in movies.”

Andrew looks at Jesse for a couple of long seconds after Jesse finishes rambling on, his eyes are locked on Jesse’s, his lips slightly parted which probably means that Jesse has bored him into a stupor. Great. Then Andrew coughs slightly and draws back. “Have you ever read a book called _Never Let Me Go_?” he asks, apparently out of nowhere.

Jesse shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Should I?”

Andrew sort of half-shrugs, like he wants to say yes but doesn’t. “Well, I feel stupid recommending a book to you when you basically live in Belle’s library but, maybe? You might like it.”

“Okay, I’ll look out for it,” Jesse says and makes a mental note to find a copy immediately. Andrew smiles and Jesse smiles and, honestly, this has the potential to be humiliating in a hundred different ways so Jesse clears his throat and falls back on his standard way of interacting with human beings inside his store. “Are you looking for a book?”

Andrew smiles slowly. “I might be,” he says. “What do you recommend?”

Those are essentially Jesse’s favourite words in the English language (closely followed by ‘kitten needing rehoming’ and ‘library stock sale’) and he relaxes, back on firm ground.

It takes Jesse two minutes to determine that Andrew has read _absolutely nothing_ (“That isn’t true,” Andrew protests, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve read all the Harry Potter books a couple of times and I read a lot of Enid Blyton when I was a kid.”) and they spend a productive half hour with Jesse dragging him through the store, filling his arms with everything he’s been missing out on.

(Honestly, Jesse is stupidly jealous that Andrew gets to read these books for the first time; sometimes Jesse fantasises about losing his memory just so he can get the same thrill from reading _The Brothers Karamazov_ as he did the first time.)

“Um,” Andrew says when they get back to the register. There are three piles of books between them, the middle one so high that Jesse has to stand on tiptoes to be able to check that Andrew is still smiling. “I don’t think I can carry all of these back to my hotel.”

“Well, you don’t have to buy them all today. You can always come back,” Jesse tells him, shrugging. He used to give out plastic bags but the guilt kept him up at night and he doesn’t have a paper bag big enough for all these books.

Andrew smiles slowly. “I’ll definitely do that.”

There’s something about his tone that’s just, possibly, almost a little bit flirty and it leaves Jesse flustered, fingers jittery when he tries to pick out the books that it’s most vital for Andrew to read immediately. The piles start to slide and they grab for them at the same time, Andrew’s hand landing on _The Daughter of Time_ and Jesse’s hand landing on top of Andrew’s.

“So,” Jesse says, drawing his hand away again quickly. “Apparently you’re really famous.” He didn’t mean to say that, but apparently it’s a big deal to other people and he wonders if Andrew minds that he didn’t know.

Andrew withdraws slightly. He doesn’t actually move much but his smile definitely dims. “I suppose it was too much to hope you’d never realise,” he says, mouth quirking, clearly embarrassed.

Jesse shakes his head. “No. If it’d been left to me, I probably never would have. I don’t watch movies.” He wonders if that sounds really bad and adds an uncertain, “Sorry?”

Andrew laughs. He leans his forearms on the counter, relaxing again. He’s wearing a shirt with short sleeves and his arms are tanned, slender and strong. Not that Jesse is looking. “Don’t apologise. It was charming.”

Charming, right. Jesse supposes that’s better than idiotic.

“I, um.” Jesse flails about for some words. “Aren’t you filming this afternoon?” Stupid question, of course he’s not, or he wouldn’t be wasting time with Jesse.

But Andrew’s eyes go wide and he looks down at his watch, making an hilariously pained face at what he sees. “Well, I’m _not_ ,” he says, sounding strangled. “I’m supposed to be though. Um.” He looks up at Jesse, biting his lip.

Jesse waves him off. “It’s okay,” he says, trying not to sound disappointed. “Just leave the books if you’ve got to go.”

“No, no,” Andrew shakes his head hard and holds out his hands. “Load me up. Just, um, quickly.”

Jesse has already picked out three books, which Andrew can absolutely not go another day without having read and he hands them over, watching as Andrew tucks them safely against his chest.

Andrew shifts his arms around, sticking a hand in the back pocket of his pants and pulling out a roll of bills. “Um, how much?” he asks. Jesse stares at all the money sitting on the counter and Andrew blushes suddenly. “Fuck, that wasn’t me trying to show you how much money I have or anything. I just got a wad changed up and I’m pretty crap at telling the denominations apart; they’re all the same size and colour.”

Jesse pulls out one more book, contemplating. “That’s why we put numbers all over them. To prevent confusion just like that.”

“Hush,” Andrew says, still distractingly pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Take some money for these books, please.”

Jesse does, trying his best not to laugh at Andrew’s fluster. He contemplates tucking the rest back into Andrew’s pants’ pocket, but that’s the sort of thing that he does in fantasies, not in real life so he just hands it over.

“You’ve been lovely,” Andrew says quickly, turning to leave. “Thank you.”

“For being lovely?” Jesse asks, just to check.

“Shut up,” Andrew says cheerfully, still backing toward the door. Jesse takes pity on him and opens the door for him in case he tries to walk through it. “Thanks.” Andrew leans into him. “I’ll be back,” he says, sounding oddly serious about it.

“Sure, yes,” Jesse agrees, letting the door swing closed with Andrew on the other side of it. He’s sure that Andrew _plans_ to come back, but he’s obviously really busy so Jesse’s not going to hold his breath. He is going to hold the books though, just in case.

***

A couple of days later, Andrew hasn’t come back - not that Jesse was expecting him to - but Jesse’s overall number of customers is definitely picking up. He hopes they didn’t get another write-up in Time Out or something. Last time, it took months for people to stop coming in just to look around.

He’s on his knees, rearranging the bottom of the LGBT YA display when a couple of kids come tripping in. They’re giggling, which isn’t usual behaviour for his customers, but it’s not forbidden or anything, so he goes back to work.

“Excuse me,” says one of the kids and Jesse looks up. She’s fiddling nervously with the leather thong around her neck, looking like she’s trying not to run away.

“Yeah?” Jesse stands up, trying to look reassuring. He’s not sure what he’s reassuring her _about_ , but he wants to be supportive if she’s finding all the books overwhelming or something.

“Has Andrew Garfield been in today?” she asks, all in one breath and Jesse has to cock his head and replay it a couple of times to understand what she said.

“What?” he asks, blinking. “How do you - ? Why would he - ?”

The other kid, the boy one, who’s been sort of lurking awkwardly in the background, steps forward and waves in Jesse’s direction. “It says in The Post that he comes in here all the time.”

Jesse gapes at him. “Seriously?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He puts a hand out, not quite touching either kid but walking them back toward the door all the same. “Well, he’s not here now and I need to close the store for a minute, so.” He grabs a couple of promotional flier off the counter, left over from the last book signing and presses them into their hands. “Here, have these. Enjoy. Please leave, now.”

He turns the sign on the door to closed then pushes the kids out onto the street, following them and quickly locking the store.

“Keep reading!” he calls back to them encouragingly then dashes down the block and into Joe’s coffee shop.

Joe’s wiping down a table in the back when Jesse pushes through the door but he looks up and grins when he sees Jesse.

“Jesse!” he says. “You’re early; is it an emergency? Are the books under-caffeinated?”

“Do you have a copy of The Post?” Jesse asks quickly, then winces. “I mean, please? And thank you, and other necessary words of politeness.”

“Sure, yeah.” Joe waves at the pile of newspapers they keep by the counter for customers. “It’s one of the popular ones so we always pick up a couple copies.”

Jesse hurries over to the counter and picks up the paper. He flicks through quickly, while Joe peers over his shoulder, making concerned noises.

It’s maybe kind of embarrassing how Jesse immediately zeros in on the picture of Andrew nestled into the corner of a slightly dog-eared page. It’s blurry and Andrew’s wearing clothes that make him look like a hobo, but he’s curled up on a park bench at the back of some movie cameras, a book open against his knees. Underneath it says:

       


_Andrew Garfield relaxes with some light reading between takes. The British actor says he has enjoyed exploring New York’s less well known boutiques, including the Dust Jacket used bookstore on Cobble Hill._  


Jesse stares. Wow.

Joe leans down closer, nose almost pressed against the page then jumps up straight. “Woah,” he says, eyes wide. “Dude, how cool is that? Did you know he’d been in the store? Did you serve him?”

“I, uh, yeah,” Jesse manages. He doesn’t know how he feels about this. It’s really, really nice of Andrew, obviously. You couldn’t pay for that kind of publicity and Andrew did it just because... well, Jesse doesn’t know why he did it, which might actually be the problem. “Um, thanks for letting me borrow the paper. I’ve got to go do something now.”

He isn’t sure what he’s going to do exactly, but Andrew just praised his bookstore to reporters, the least Jesse can do is take him the rest of the books he bought.

***

Going to the set to visit Andrew sounds like a good idea in Jesse’s head until he tries to put the logistics into practice. Having to call Emma to ask her to watch the store and to find out exactly _where_ Spider-man is filming is only the first humiliating step that Jesse has to go through.

They’re filming back alley shots behind a couple of rundown warehouses down by the river and Jesse wants to draw his coat tight around himself and his shoulders up to his ears as he approaches because it _feels_ like the sort of place he shouldn’t be, even with what looks like a million crew people dressed in black running around, hissing things into their headsets.

“Hey, man, restricted area,” says a girl with pink-tipped black hair and truly terrifyingly huge ankle boots.

“Yeah, um.” Jesse forces himself to drop his shoulders and appear even slightly confident. Only slightly though because that already takes a lot of effort. “I’m looking for Andrew? I’m a friend.” That’s a lie, he wonders if she knows it’s a lie. He hates lying to people, but _I spilled coffee over him and he wore my clothes and then I made him buy books_ would take too long to explain and she looks like she’s in a hurry.

Her eyes flick over him. “I’m sure,” she says flatly which, hey, is kind of offensive. Jesse knows he looks like a guy who spends a lot of more time around books than he does people, but who’s to say that Andrew doesn’t like that in a person.

Andrew probably doesn’t like that in a person, but still.

“He... I just - .” Jesse waves his rucksack at her. “I’m delivering some books he bought?”

Her gaze flicks past his shoulder like she has nine hundred places to be and none of them are here. “Leave them with Tony over there,” she says, nodding her chin at another black-clad, radio-wearing person, this time with an eyebrow piercing. Jesse is clearly no way near cool enough to be on a movie set.

“I really want to see - ” Jesse tries again, hopelessly this time and he can already see her start to get annoyed with him when someone calls his name.

He turns and Andrew is jogging toward him. Well, sort of Andrew. Andrew wearing the tightest, most ridiculous blue and red costume that Jesse has ever seen. He’s pushed the hood part back so his hair stands up at right angles and he’s wearing sneakers but otherwise all Jesse can see is... tight. The outline of his biceps, the ridges of his pecks, the... Jesse stops looking down when he reaches the juts of Andrew’s hipbones.

“Shit,” Jesse says then tries to swallow his tongue.

Andrew stops in front of him, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know I look stupid,” he says, “There’s no need to hold back on my account.” He spreads his arms. “Feel free to mock.”

“No, no, I - ” He can feel Radio Girl’s eyes on them both. “Is that what caped crusaders are wearing this season? Do you have a show at London Fashion Week?”

Andrew laughs again, slightly less embarrassedly this time. “The caped crusader is Batman,” he says.

Jesse frowns. “And you’re - ?”

“Spider-man.” Andrew points at the black lines running through the red and blue that’s moulded around his body. “See? Webs.”

Oh, that makes sense. Jesse wonders if Andrew honestly doesn’t mind how clueless he is, or if he’s secretly getting annoyed. He really hopes Andrew isn’t getting annoyed.

“I, um.” He drops his back off his shoulder, holding it out to Andrew. “I brought your books.”

“Jesse,” Andrew tuts. “I said I was going to come and get them from you.”

He sounds almost disappointed, which Jesse doesn’t understand at all. “Sure, but I have elderly customers and if you’d walked into my store dressed like that, you might have given them all heart-attacks.”

Andrew grins. “Don’t you think I look fetching?” he asks. “Pin Up Guys dot org called me the second sexiest super-hero of all time.”

“Who was the sexiest?” Jesse asks, ignoring the part where Andrew asked for Jesse opinion.

Andrew shrugs. “Robert Downey Junior as Iron Man.”

“Oh well,” Jesse says. He knows who that is because his little sister made him watch that Sherlock Holmes adaptation during the holidays. She didn’t speak to him for two days after he told her what he thought of it.

“Exactly,” Andrew says and smiles at him. It feels like they’re sharing a secret, but Jesse’s not sure which one unless it’s an appreciation of Robert Downey Junior. He smiles back anyway, because he’s not sure anyone could look at Andrew’s face and not smile at it.

There’s a cough from behind them and Radio Girl says, “Dude, you have a trailer, you might want to use it.”

Andrew’s cheeks go pink which Jesse is just not going to think about it and, “Sorry, Amy,” he says. He reaches out and grabs the swinging handle of Jesse’s bag. “Come on. Come with me for a sec?”

Jesse doesn’t know where they’re going but he follows. He has to, he’s still holding onto the other bag strap so he can either follow or let Andrew run off with his books without checking that he knows how to take proper care of them.

There are a row of trailers around the corner and Andrew bounces up the steps to the one in the middle. Jesse carefully doesn’t look at the way his costume stretches across his ass because there’s appreciating that someone’s attractive and then there’s creepy perving - Jesse saw some of the pictures on Abigail’s google images page and he knows there are enough people creepily perving on Andrew already.

“Hi, so,” Andrew says when they’re inside his trailer with the door shut. It’s cramped and kind of dark in here, covered in clothes but Andrew pushes some jeans onto the floor and looks hopeful so Jesse sits down on the bed.

Andrew pulls up a chair and straddles it backwards, wincing a little then laughing. “I always forget how tight this suit is,” he says. It’s not fair, Jesse thinks, that someone can be so attractive and this endearing.

“Be careful,” Jesse warns. “Farmers castrate cattle by tying an elastic band around their junk and waiting for it to fall off.”

Andrew stares at him for a second then his lips twitch and he drops his head onto his folded arms. “Oh my god,” he says between giggles and Jesse tries not to look too obviously smug at having made him laugh. “I...” Andrew says eventually then shakes his head. “I have no idea how to lead on from that.”

Jesse drums his fingers on his knee and tries to think of something to say that has nothing to do with animal husbandry.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Andrew says, leaning across the foot or so of space between them. “I was going to come by yesterday but filming overran and then the others wanted to go out for drinks and - ”

Jesse holds up a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t have to explain,” he says, “It’s not like we had a date planned or anything.” He clamps his lips closed abruptly because, shit, could he be any less smooth? (He could actually, yes, and he has been in the past, but he does at least _want_ to talk to Andrew, which seems to be helping.)

Andrew starts to smile. “No,” he agrees, “I really fell down on the job there, didn’t I?”

Jesse frowns. “What?”

“Nothing.” Andrew shakes his head quickly and pulls Jesse’s backpack up onto his lap. “You know, I can’t remember what I bought. Are you appalled?”

“Yes,” Jesse says. “I own an entire bookstore and I know exactly what we have.” He takes the books as Andrew starts to unpack them. “Have you started on the other ones?”

“I have,” Andrew says brightly. “I read half of _Regeneration_ between takes yesterday. I bought the rest of the series, right? Are they in here?”

“Yes,” Jesse tells him, remembering abruptly why he’s here. All the unexpected Spider-man suit and almost flirting temporarily distracted him. “That’s actually, um. That’s why I came. You didn’t... You didn’t have to advertise my store like that.”

“Like...?” Andrew starts to ask then, “Oh, you mean to the reporter? Did she print it?”

Jesse nods. “Yeah, yes, it’s all over The Post and now there are teenagers coming into the store to see if they can spot you skulking in the aisles or something.”

Andrew’s lips curl into an O shape like he hadn’t expected that. “Sorry,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

“What, no. Just, people don’t tend to come in. I don’t really know what I’d do with a lot of customers. They might buy my books.” Jesse wrings his hands together so he’ll stop flailing them. The idea of people pawing at his books makes him feel twitchy, okay?

Andrew bites his lip, obviously trying not to laugh at Jesse. “Isn’t that the point?” he asks. “Or am I misunderstanding something fundamental?”

“Yes,” Jesse tells him seriously. “You’re missing my cunning and innovative approach to book selling, where I don’t actually like to sell any books. My accountant loves it; he’s always wanted a peptic ulcer.”

“I’m sure,” Andrew agrees, nodding. “You’re very kind to help out with that.”

“Right,” Jesse says and then he can’t help laughing. Andrew joins in immediately, reaching across and resting his hand on Jesse’s knee. Jesse suddenly doesn’t feel like laughing any more, but he makes himself anyway so Andrew won’t take his hand away.

On the table, something buzzes and Andrew squeezes Jesse’s knee for a second before drawing away. “Sorry,” he says, “That’s my alarm; I have to get back on set. I get to dangle off balconies this afternoon.”

“Um,” Jesse says, “Cool?”

Andrew stands up then sits down agains suddenly, reaching over and touching Jesse’s wrist this time. “Feel free to say no,” he starts. His eyes dip a little, looking somewhere around Jesse’s collar. “But, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Oh, wow, really? “I can’t,” Jesse says, surprising himself by actually wishing he could. Normally, he freaks out at the first hint of a date but Andrew doesn’t scare him half as much as most people do. Which should probably scare him more.

“Okay,” Andrew says quietly. He lets go of Jesse’s wrist and starts to draw back. “Right. Obviously. No, that’s fine, that’s - ”

Jesse is normally the one who babbles in any given conversation. “I can’t _tonight_ ,” he amends, “It’s my friend Justin’s birthday. I mean, I wish I could say screw it and have dinner with you instead, because Justin’s idea of fun and mine are very different, but - ” Jesse shrugs.

Andrew’s smiling again now. Jesse’s confused by the fact that thinking _Jesse_ was turning him down was apparently enough to kill his smile. “But he’s your friend,” Andrew finishes for him. He fiddles with the sleeves of his suit for a moment then, “I could come? Unless it’s a terribly private party or anything?”

“You want to come to my crazy friend Justin’s birthday party?” Jesse asks incredulously.

Andrew bounces his fingers on Jesse’s knee. “I do,” he says firmly. “Unless you’d hate that.”

“I... No.” Jesse takes a deep breath. “That’d be good. Please come.”

***

When Jesse gets back to the store, he spends so long panicking about the fact that not only does he have a date tonight with Andrew, he has a date tonight with Andrew _in front of all his friends_ that he almost forgets to go upstairs to get ready.

He’s still half way through poking at his curls, trying to get them to do _something_ other than explode across his skull like an Hebraic geyser, when someone knocks on the door downstairs.

“It’s open,” Jesse calls because apparently he has a death wish.

“Hi,” Andrew calls up the stairs. “Am I early? Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” Jesse stands up. “You’re not, I’m just running late.” Jesse never normally runs late but he does his best to sound like he’s relaxed rather than ridiculously anxious about it.

Andrew bounces up the stairs - walls shaking a little as he goes - and through into Jesse’s living room. “Hi,” he says again, hesitating for a second before leaning forward and pulling Jesse into a hug.

Jesse hugs back automatically, pleased that Andrew doesn’t throw in any of those backslap things that Justin’s so keen on. They always knock all the air out of Jesse’s lungs and he’s never sure how to respond.

“You look fantastic,” Andrew says when he pulls back, which is ridiculous since Andrew is wearing a dark silver shirt with the top few buttons open and a pair of black jeans that are almost as tight as the Spider-man suit was this afternoon. He looks so good that Jesse really wants to demand to know what he’s doing _here_ of all places when he could probably be on a catwalk somewhere, drinking champagne with other, equally gorgeous, people.

“I, uh. You. You too,” Jesse finally manages. “Let’s go, should we go?”

“Is it far?” Andrew asks, following Jesse out of the apartment and waiting while he locks up.

“Not too far,” Jesse says, then remembers that most people don’t like to walk like he does. “It’s twenty blocks, maybe. Do you want to take the subway?”

“No.” Andrew shakes his head. “I’m happy to walk.”

They fall into step beside each other, walking in silence for the first block. Then Andrew clears his throat and starts telling Jesse about his afternoon of dangling off balconies pretending to be a giant spider. In return, Jesse tells Andrew about the fight Emma had a with a guy who tried to jerk off in the history section.

“The _history_ section?” Andrew asks, stopping to turn and frown at Jesse. “The erotica section, I might understand.”

Jesse shrugs. “Maps are sexy,” he says. “I have a little crush on Ptolemy’s _Geographia_ myself.”

Andrew smiles. “I’ll remember that,” he says then keeps walking, leaving Jesse blinking after him.

***

When he’s not lurking around Jesse’s store, flirting with Emma and scaring the patrons, Justin is the manager of a terrifyingly trendy bar that caters to NYU students. Every year on his birthday, he rents out the VIP area and they all get horribly, disastrously drunk. It’s not like Jesse doesn’t enjoy getting drunk, but the older he gets, the less tolerant he’s growing of hangovers.

“This is nice,” Andrew says when the bouncer nods them inside and they weave their way through twisting bodies to get to the roped off stairs leading upstairs.

“If you say so,” Jesse says. Someone dances straight into him and he stumbles, some strange mix of mortified and delighted when Andrew catches him with an arm around his waist, pulling Jesse against his side.

“Careful,” Andrew says, warm in Jesse’s ear, then guides him through the crowd, arm a warm and solid bar across Jesse’s back.

Everyone else is already upstairs. Emma’s drinking beer and flicking peanuts at Justin, who’s sprawled back in his chair, looking blitzed already. Kristen and Armie are making out in the corner of one sofa, body-bumping against Patrick who’s half in Joe’s lap to get away.

“Um, hi,” Jesse says, clearing his throat. It’s ridiculous, these are his best friends, but he always feels awkward when he arrives somewhere last, like this is going to be the time they turn around and tell him he’s not allowed to join them.

“Jesse!” Emma says, looking up. Then her eyes go wide, looking past Jesse at Andrew. “Holy _shit_.”

Belatedly, Jesse realises that he probably should have phoned everyone earlier to beg them to please, please not scare Andrew away.

Jesse grabs Andrew’s wrist and pulls him forward. “This is Andrew,” he says, keeping his voice steady (ish). “Andrew, this is everyone.”

“Hello, everyone,” Andrew says, stepping forward and holding out a hand. Jesse watches, bemused, as Andrew goes around everyone, learning their names and having something charming to say to each of them, like he’s fucking royalty or something. He even waits for Armie to take his tongue out of Kristen’s mouth and doesn’t look at all fazed by the twin, wide-eyed stares they give him.

Finally, he circles back around to Jesse and leans into him. “I’ll get us drinks,” he says, “What would you like?”

Jesse asks for a Manhattan because he thinks he’s going to need something strong to face all the questions written brightly on his friend’s faces. Andrew kisses Jesse’s cheek - Jesse doesn’t know why he keeps doing that or why it feels so good - and Jesse watches him walk over to the bar for as long as he can before Joe, Emma and Kristen all grab him and spin him around.

“What the actual fuck, dude?” Joe asks. He waves his hands like he can’t quite push the question all the way out of his mouth.

“What?” Jesse asks, aiming for innocent but probably missing.

“That’s... That’s...” Now Emma’s waving her hands, too.

“Jess.” Kristen puts her hands on Jesse’s shoulders. “Honey, where did you pick up Spider-man?”

“Their meet-cute was both meety and cutey,” Justin slurs, coming up behind her and draping one arm over her shoulders, the other over Joe’s. He leans over and points at Jesse waveringly. “I _knew_ you were banging him. Why’d you have to lie to me, bro?”

“I didn’t. I’m not.” Jesse pushes through them and goes to sit next to Patrick. “Hi,” he says firmly.

Patrick smiles languidly and holds out his fist for Jesse to bump. He grins when Jesse doesn’t and gives him a quick hug instead. “So, your new boyfriend’s hot,” he says, because Patrick is quieter than the others but no less nosy.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jesse moans then straightens up abruptly when he sees Andrew return with drinks. He stops to chat to Justin, handing him a beer which Justin really does not need, then sits next to Jesse, knocking their knees together in greeting.

“Sorry about them,” Jesse says, taking his drink and touching his ankle against Andrew’s.

Andrew smiles. “Why? Everyone seems lovely,” he says, sipping from the bottle of beer that he’s holding between long, tanned fingers.

“Ha, damn right we are,” Emma says, plonking herself down on Patrick’s lap so she can lean over Jesse and smirk evilly at Andrew. “Now you’ve got to tell us how you met Jesse. Jesse never tells us anything.”

“Oh, Jesse saved my life,” Andrew says easily. “I had a wardrobe emergency and Jesse was lovely enough to lend me a jumper.”

That is possibly the nicest possible way Andrew could have told that story. It’s largely bullshit, obviously, but Jesse still appreciates it. He leans into Andrew’s side a little and admits, “I spilled coffee over him.” He points at Joe. “And this is the guy who made the coffee, so Andrew if you’re looking to sue anyone, he’s the one.”

Joe gapes at him then sits forward. “You wore my coffee?” he asks. “How was it?”

“Very comfortable,” Andrew says, laughing. “Maybe a little hot.”

The night goes on like that. However ridiculous Jesse’s friends get, Andrew is right there, taking it in his stride and getting increasingly ridiculous on his own. He dances with Emma and Kristen and just shakes his head affectionately when Jesse flips him off, hiding behind Armie so Andrew can’t make him dance too.

“He’s lovely,” Kristen says, flopping down onto the sofa, head in Jesse’s lap while Justin drags Andrew back onto the dance floor. Jesse thinks about going to save him, but he’s comfortably drunk and Andrew looks bright and happy when he’s dancing.

“Yeah, he is,” Jesse agrees, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

Kristen pokes him. “What’s up?”

“What? Nothing.” Jesse has known Kristen forever; she’s sneakier than the others when it comes to making him confess things, always knowing how patient and how pushy to be. “He’s really great, isn’t he?”

Kristen rolls over, elbows pressing into Jesse’s thighs. “And that’s a problem?”

Jesse shakes his head. “He’s just... I’m so...” Jesse is so confused about what Andrew’s doing here tonight.

“You’re thinking far too much,” Kristen tells him, sitting up and handing Jesse her drink. “Which means you’re not drunk enough.”

“I don’t need to be _drunk_ ,” Jesse says, taking the glass from her and downing it. “It’s not like anything is going to happen anyway. He’s super famous, or so everyone keeps telling me. Super famous guys don’t date bookstore owners; they’re not even allowed to be gay.” He’s pretty sure that’s true; he read something about Tom Cruise this one time, anyway.

“Jess.” Kristen turns toward the table, looking like she’s trying to find more alcohol to ply him with. “The dude just spent the last three hours getting to know your friends, making moon eyes at you and dancing with _Justin_. He’s totally interested in you.”

“I, uh.” Jesse pulls her back around before she tries to hand him Patrick’s half-drunk glass of cider. There’s a chewing gum floating in the foam; he’ll throw-up if he even has to look at it any longer. “I guess? When you put it like that.”

Kristen pokes him in the side. “Go take him home. Do naughty things to him.”

Jesse hesitates. The chances of him doing anything that could be considered even remotely naughty with Andrew tonight are very low but he wouldn’t mind a kiss. Or seventeen. “I can’t,” he says regretfully, “It’s Justin’s birthday.”

Kristen looks at him like she knows that’s just an excuse but Emma and Joe come tripping back from the bar just then, carrying a couple of pitchers and a pile of shot glasses between them and she gets distracted, clapping her hands. “Oh hey, drinking games!”

This is usually the point in the evening when Jesse ducks out, but Andrew is here tonight and he’s sliding into the inch of space between Jesse and Kristen, chest warm and a little sweaty against Jesse’s side.

“What are we doing?” he asks, low in Jesse’s ear.

Jesse shrugs, but only gently, not wanting to shrug Andrew off. “Since it’s Justin’s choice, probably playing I Never. It’s his favourite, since he’s done _everything_.”

“Oh dear,” Andrew says, resting his forehead against Jesse’s temple. “I think I’ve already had more to drink than I meant to.”

Jesse turns to look at him. Andrew’s flushed and his eyes are a little glassy; it’s a really good look on him, but Jesse is _always_ the friend who worries about everyone else’s alcohol consumption.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks, turning to press the back of his hand to Andrew’s forehead like he might have a fever or something.

Andrew smiles at him. It’s wider and a little sloppier than his regular handsome-charming-guy grin. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m not that drunk. Just please don’t judge me on anything I may say? I really want to make a good impression.”

“On who?” Jesse asks, then wants to smack himself. “Wait, on me?”

Andrew cocks his head at him, eyebrows drawing together. “Of course,” he says, “Who else?”

“Oh, _anyone_ ,” Jesse says then ducks his head when Andrew just frowns harder at him.

“No, no,” he says, all drunken sincerity. He reaches out and presses his hands to Jesse’s cheeks. “No one else.”

There’s a strangled sound from behind Andrew and, when Jesse manages to drag his gaze away from Andrew’s earnest brown eyes, he finds Kristen urgently mouthing _naughty things_ at him while pointing frantically at Andrew.

Jesse blushes and deliberately turns around to face the table where Justin is setting out the shot glasses. “I Never?” he asks.

“Actually,” Justin drawls. “I was thinking Truth or Dare.” He holds up a slightly wavery finger before Jesse can argue. “C’mon, dude, it’s my birthday.”

Jesse sighs. “Fine,” he says, “Fine. But I hold you responsible for anything emotionally scarring that may take place.”

“Don’t you like Truth or Dare?” Andrew asks while Justin finishes filling the shot glasses and Emma and Joe start doing that thing that they do where they sneak sidelong glances at each other. It’s a prelude to going home together but for some reason, neither of them will ever just come out and admit it.

“I don’t like dares,” Jesse admits. “They’re always humiliating and I’m not good with public humiliation. Truths are fine though, because I tell everybody everything anyway.”

Andrew puts his hand on the centre of Jesse’s back, hot through Jesse’s t-shirt, fingers plucking gently at the fabric, little nips of clumsy nails against Jesse’s skin. “If anyone tries to dare you to do anything you don’t want to do, let me know and I’ll do it for you,” he promises.

Jesse stares. “Really?” It’s potentially one of the nicest things anyone’s ever offered to do for him.

Andrew shrugs. “Hey, I’m an actor. I get paid to make a fool of myself in front strangers so I might as well get some practice in.”

As it turns out, no one tries to dare Jesse to do anything much for once; they’re all too busy trying to ply Andrew with truths.

“Leave him alone,” Jesse says, putting a protective hand on Andrew’s thigh when Emma leans forward and earnestly asks Andrew if it’s true that someone called Keira Knightley is really involved in a threesome with someone or something else called the Beckhams.

Andrew chokes on the shot he was drinking - even though he didn’t need to since he hadn’t refused to answer the question. Jesse isn’t convinced Andrew actually knows how to play this game.

“I really - . I really don’t think so,” Andrew manages between coughs. “That would be really strange, so no.”

Joe shifts around on the sofa, arm falling around Emma’s waist and asks Andrew, “Is it true that you’re dating Shannon Woodward? Because, you know, dude.” He waves a meaningful hand between Andrew and Jesse and Jesse stiffens. If Andrew has a girlfriend, this isn’t how Jesse wants to find out.

Also, if Andrew has a girlfriend then he thinks that one of his friends could have mentioned it before now.

“Joe, it’s not even his turn,” Jesse tries but no one listens to him.

“No,” Andrew says quickly over Jesse’s protest. He turns to Jesse. “No,” he says again, seriously. “I’m basically pretty much eternally single.”

Justin makes a disbelieving sound. “Right, looking like that and being famous like you are, you can’t find any chicks who’ll bang you?” he scoffs.

Andrew bites his lip and picks up another shot. “I’m not interested in girls at all,” he says, downing the drink and slamming the glass on the table.

There’s a pause, like everyone is waiting for someone else to start asking the next invasive question.

Andrew groans, slapping himself on the cheek. “And now I’m definitely drunk and I’ve told you the one thing my agent says I mustn’t ever tell anyone so I’m done. Jesse, it’s been lovely.”

“No, wait.” Jesse scrambles out of his seat, standing up at the same time that Andrew does. “I’ll come home with you.” He groans inwardly and amends quickly, “I _mean_ , I’ll walk you home.”

He has no idea where Andrew’s staying, he realises, or if it’s in walkable distance, but Andrew doesn’t argue, just goes around all of Jesse’s friends _again_ , saying goodbye this time. He gets more hugs than Jesse does, but that’s probably because Emma and Joe have progressed to making out and they’re the ones most inclined to hug Jesse.

Jesse does end up with an armful of sloppily drunk Justin though, who clings to him, mumbling, “It’s my birthday,” and something connected to Britney that Jesse really doesn’t know how to deal with. He passes Justin off to Kristen who pets his hair and says, “Maybe she called you at home? Did you check your voicemail?”

“Come on,” Jesse says quietly and grabs Andrew’s sleeve, pulling him down the stairs and out of the club.

Andrew stops out on the sidewalk, swaying a little, then shakes himself. “Fuck, it’s hot in there,” he says, sweaty bangs flipping across his face. It’s late January in New York, they’re not going to be hot for long, so Jesse tries to hurry him along.

“Is Justin all right?” Andrew asks. He tucks his hand into the crook of Jesse’s elbow and Jesse doesn’t complain.

“Yeah, he’s - ” Jesse shrugs. “He’s been on again, off again with this girl since they were fourteen and they’re off at the moment so he’s mopey.”

“Oh no, that’s so sad,” Andrew says. He sticks his free hand in his pocket and looks down at their moving feet for a couple of quiet minutes. “Your, um. Your friends seem lovely,” he manages eventually.

Jesse shrugs awkwardly. He thinks they’re great, obviously, but then they’re _his_ friends; he’s never sure how well they translate to the rest of the world. “They’re not going to out you,” he settles on eventually. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Andrew shakes his head quickly. “I’m not.” His hand tightens around Jesse’s elbow and Jesse wonders if he even knows it’s there. “I mean, I should be, but I just, sometimes I just can’t be bothered to... Ugh, no, let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about something happy. I really do like your friends and they seem to love you, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess they tolerate me,” Jesse says, wondering if he should warn Andrew that he’s rambling. “I think you’re their favourite now though. You really won them over. In fact, they’ll probably invite you to things and forget all about me now.”

“Do you think?” Andrew sounds pleased. “I wanted them to like me.” He laughs softly. “I want _you_ to like me.”

“I do,” Jesse admits reluctantly, and doesn’t stop walking, definitely doesn’t look in Andrew’s direction, because if he does, he thinks his face might explode with embarrassment. Embarrassed Face Explosion: the number one cause of death among socially awkward bookstore owners in Brooklyn.

Andrew doesn’t make him talk about it, which is nice, just slides his hand down from the crook of Jesse’s elbow to curl around his wrist, almost but not quite holding hands.

They walk quickly because it’s cold and the air smells like it’s going to snow.

“I wish it were summer,” Andrew says out of nowhere. “I’d ask you to stop and show me the area. Places that tourists don’t usually see and places that you like, things like that.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jesse says. “Even if it were the height of summer, the places I like are full of drug dealers and addicts at this time of night.”

Andrew sighs. “That’s a shame. I suppose you’ll just have to show me your bookshop instead, then.”

“Now?” Jesse asks, frowning.

Andrew shrugs - Jesse feels it in the movement of his arm. “Unless you have something else to do?”

It’s three a.m. and Jesse needs to open the store in five hours. “No,” he says, “Nowhere else to be.”

***

The bookstore always looks different in the middle of the night: even with the lights on, it looks emptier, bigger. This isn’t the first time that Jesse’s unlocked the door long after closing, slipping inside like a burglar, but it’s the first time he’s done it with someone else in tow. Usually, he comes down here when he can’t sleep and the walls of his apartment move beyond just closing in to threatening to crush him.

“How long have you owned this place?” Andrew asks, leaning against the travel fiction section while Jesse relocks the door.

Jesse slips the keys back into his pocket and pulls Andrew along, removing the back of his jacket from the front of Jesse’s books. “Ever since a woodland book nymph materialised in my living room and bequeathed it to me.”

Andrew blinks slowly, looking like he’s slightly too drunk to work out what’s wrong with that sentence.

Jesse takes pity on him. “I bought it with my ex-girlfriend,” he says, “before she became my ex-girlfriend, obviously.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, biting his lip and leaning in like he wants to give Jesse a hug. Jesse is theoretically fine with Andrew hugging him, but he doesn’t want it to be because he thinks he’s still heartbroken over Anna. That would be weird.

Jesse steps back, catching Andrew’s sleeve when he doesn’t manage to regain his balance of his own accord.

“Um,” Jesse says when he’s sure Andrew isn’t going to fall over. “So this is the store. Again. Why did you want to come back here?”

Andrew reaches out and touches Jesse’s wrist. “Isn’t that obvious?” he asks. “I was sure I was being obvious.”

He is being obvious. At least, Jesse thinks he’s being obvious. But what if what Jesse thinks Andrew’s being obvious about isn’t what Jesse thinks it is at all? What if Kristen’s wrong and Andrew doesn’t like him? What if -

“Or maybe not,” Andrew says slowly. He takes his hand away and starts to step back. “Should I leave? It is pretty late, I suppose.”

“No,” Jesse says quickly. “No, no, that’s. Come on, I want to show you something.” Jesse doesn’t really know what they’re doing here; now that he’s learned how to google, he knows that Andrew is friends with the guy from the _Twilight_ movies and he parties with models and the new Doctor Who - this can't be his idea of a fun Saturday night.

Except, when Jesse leads him up to his favourite corner of the store, the one on the low-level mezzanine where you can sit and see everything in the store, Andrew beams at him and takes a seat, sitting cross-legged on the love-seat and propping his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand.

“This is lovely,” he says. “It must be so peaceful.”

Jesse laughs. “The whole store is pretty peaceful, we don’t get many customers. Well, except when random famous actor guys decide to give us some free publicity, anyway.”

Andrew has the grace to look abashed. “Sorry about that,” he tries. “Did you really mind?”

Jesse shakes his head. “No, it was nice of you. I was just surprised, that’s all. I mean, I wasn’t really expecting you to remember me, um the store, I mean. I wasn’t expecting you to remember us at all and then there you were telling reporters about us.”

“Do you always refer to yourself and your bookshop as a single entity like that?” Andrew asks curiously. He seems to sense that Jesse’s about to blush before Jesse’s cheeks even get hot because he says quickly, “Which I think is _lovely_ by the way. If you care at all what I think.”

Jesse does. It would probably be easier if he didn’t, but apparently his stupid emotions don’t know that.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks instead of answering.

“Yes,” Andrew tells him, tipsy and earnest. He leans in. His lips are ridiculous, all full and wet from where he’s been licking them; Jesse wants to abandon conversation and make out with him, right here in front of the Chaucers and Hemmingways.

Instead, Jesse points at the knee-heigh little bookcase curved in a semi-circle opposite the love-seat.

“I put all my favourite books up here,” he says. “Sometimes I take the last copy off the shelf and hide it here instead.” He ducks his head, wondering why he’s volunteering extra reasons for Andrew to think he’s weird. “I hate it when there’s a book we don’t have in stock.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, sliding down onto the floor so he’s kneeling in front of the bookcase. He’s practically sitting on Jesse’s feet, which means that Jesse can’t avoid meeting his eyes. For some reason, he doesn’t look like he thinks Jesse’s weird; he looks... Jesse isn’t sure, but he thinks the best descriptor is ‘charmed’.

“What do you do if someone finds one of these and tries to buy it?” Andrew asks, fingers hovering over the spines, but not touching.

“I go all Gollum on them and bite their fingers off,” Jesse tells him seriously. “Or if they’re very polite and I’m feeling softhearted, I sell them the book and then weep non-stop for the next forty-eight hours.”

Andrew laughs, pressing his forehead to Jesse’s knee. Luckily, it only lasts a couple of seconds because Jesse can’t breathe while they’re touching. When Andrew looks up, his eyes are bright and he looks happy as he tugs on Jesse’s pant leg.

“Come down here?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Jesse says, “What if the dust bunnies eat me?”

Andrew tugs harder, smiling widely when Jesse gets up from the love-seat and folds down awkwardly next to him. “I’m Spider-man,” he says, whispering like that’s a secret too. “I’m not sure what a dust bunny is, but I’m sure I could take one on.”

“I don’t know,” Jesse says, “They have huge teeth made out of shadows and lost bobby pins.”

Andrew gasps in exaggerated horror. “That does sound _truly_ terrifying.” He leans in, head on Jesse’s shoulder. “Maybe we’d best protect each other.”

Andrew’s head is heavy and warm on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse is repeatedly shocked every time he realises that Andrew is real, not an impossible fantasy that he’s made up in his head. “Yeah,” he manages, “Sounds like a plan.”

***

At just after four, they drift up to Jesse’s apartment for a minute because Andrew says his hangover’s kicking in and he really needs a cup of tea. By mutual consent they don’t stay up there, carrying a tray back down to the store instead, because Andrew’s right, it _is_ peaceful.

Jesse thinks Andrew should be flattered that he’s breaking his own no food or drink rule for him. They sit by the counter, shooting each other looks over the teapot.

“Jesse,” Andrew says at the same time that Jesse says, “Andrew.” Jesse doesn’t usually use people’s names much in conversation; he likes to give them reasonable doubt that he’s talking to them specifically, just in case the words coming out of his mouth stop making sense.

Andrew laughs, turning the pot around on its mat and pouring for both of them, Jesse first. “Sorry,” he says, “What were you going to say?”

“It must be hard,” Jesse tries, wondering why he’s doing this, why he’s initiating an awkward conversation when he could have just let Andrew say whatever he was going to say instead, “not being allowed to date.”

Andrew’s gaze drops to the counter top. This is the only thing Jesse’s seen that stops Andrew from smiling, that makes him look uncertain. Jesse wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“I am allowed to date,” Andrew says. “Or, at least, I would anyway, if the right boy wanted to date me. It’s just that no one would be allowed to find out because being gay is the worst thing it’s possible to be.” He shrugs, jerky and a little angry-looking. “ _Apparently_.”

Jesse doesn’t think, just covers Andrew’s hand with his. “That’s shitty,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

Andrew shakes his head, squeezing Jesse’s hand then pulling away, picking up his mug and fiddling with the handle. “It’s okay,” he says, putting the mug down again without drinking from it. “Other people have bigger problems, don’t they? I get to do this job I love every day and it’s not... I still meet people. I get to pretend.” He’s looking at Jesse full on now, eyes wide and liquid, licking his bottom lip until it’s shiny.

 _He’s going to kiss you_ , Jesse’s mental alarm system warns him but Jesse doesn’t need to be warned, Jesse wants to be kissed. “Yes,” Jesse says, either to himself or to Andrew. Either way it doesn’t seem to matter because Andrew leans forward over the cash register and fits their mouths together.

It’s a light kiss, gentle, but Jesse still shifts forward, fanning his hand across Andrew’s stubbled cheek because he doesn’t want it to end.

Andrew makes a breathy little laughing moan straight into Jesse’s mouth and then they’re both moving at the same time: Jesse dragging his chair closer and Andrew clutching his thighs, holding on tight to each other while they kiss again and again, lost in the dark and the quiet.

“Oh wow,” Andrew says, when they pull back after an unknown number of thoroughly enjoyable minutes. Jesse thinks he might know the whole pattern of Andrew’s teeth by now and he feels shaky, a bit off-kilter; if that’s what Andrew means by pretending, he’s not sure he’d survive it happening for real.

“Yes,” Jesse agrees, pulling experimentally against Andrew’s hip and trying not to expire from lust when Andrew immediately comes out of his chair, climbing onto Jesse’s lap instead. The shape of his hard-on presses against Jesse’s belly and Jesse’s so shocked, he nearly pushes him straight back off.

He reconsiders that plan pretty damn quick and holds Andrew’s hips hard instead.

“We _can’t_ have sex tonight,” Andrew says, like he’s trying to convince Jesse of an argument he doesn’t buy into himself.

“No,” Jesse says, because he knows Andrew’s right. He just wishes he weren’t.

Andrew groans and puts his head on Jesse’s shoulder, tucking himself around Jesse. Jesse slides his arms around Andrew’s waist and holds on.

“I really, really want to,” Andrew confesses in Jesse’s ear. “But we’re drunk and you might wake up in the morning realising that I have far too much baggage.”

“Wait.” Jesse pulls back just far enough to be able to look up into Andrew’s face. “You think _you_ might have too much baggage for _me_?” He can’t help laughing incredulously even though it probably makes him sound unhinged. “Trust me when I say that the rest of the world would see things the other way around.”

Andrew kisses him, hard and quick. “Then the rest of the world are idiots,” he says firmly. He sways forward again like he wants to kiss Jesse some more - Jesse’s already tilting his chin up; he wants to be kissed - then leans back, stumbling over the chair leg and ending up sitting back in his chair with a bump. He giggles. “I meant to do that. And I really need to call a cab or I’m never going to go home.”

 _Don’t go home_ , Jesse thinks wistfully. “I’ll get you the number,” is what he says.

Jesse calls a cab and Andrew borrows a scarf, winding it around his neck once then draping the rest artfully over his shoulders like the warm glow of fashion will keep him warm. Then they just stand in the dark store, looking at each other.

“How long will it be?” Andrew asks. In the glow of the street lights outside, Jesse can see Andrew’s eyes dip to look at Jesse’s mouth again.

“Ten, ten minutes?” Jesse says, having to clear his throat half-way through. He feels flushed and turned-on and Jesse never normally gets like this, not easily. He normally wants people abstractly; it’s rarely visceral like this.

Andrew breathes out a gusty breath. “However will we fill the time?” he asks slyly. “Maybe I could kiss you again?”

“You had better,” Jesse says. “Traffic’s notoriously bad at four in the morning and I’d hate for you to get bored.”

“Public service,” Andrew agrees and then they’re kissing again.

By the time the cab pulls up outside, flashing its lights across the darkened street, Jesse is kissing the underside of Andrew’s jaw and Andrew’s hands have slid up the front of Jesse’s shirt. Jesse doesn’t just wish he’d ask him to stay the night; he wishes he could ask him to stay forever. Which is dangerous and so, so stupid.

When Andrew suggests dinner the next night, Jesse doesn’t even have to think before he agrees.

***

Jesse arrives at Andrew’s hotel twenty minutes early the next evening and manages to waste the first ten freaking out and trying not to hyperventilate. What is he _doing_? He’s deliberately walking into a situation where he’s going to be alone on a date with Andrew. Sure, conversations with Andrew have been surprisingly easy so far but Jesse is notoriously bad at dates; he’s pretty sure Justin is still running a Facebook page thingy dedicated to Embarrassing Shit Jesse Has Said On Dates.

Andrew’s hotel is monochrome steel and hardwood floors, sleek and expensive-looking and the doorman has been giving Jesse funny looks since he started muttering to himself by the front door so Jesse pulls out his cell and calls Kristen, since she’s the most terrifying of his friends and the most likely to tell him to grow some and just go inside.

Sometimes Jesse needs external validation; he’s not ashamed of that.

What Kristen actually says is, “Do you have wine? Have you flossed? Are you wearing clean underwear?” and then, when Jesse says yes to all the above, she laughs and says, “Then get the hell upstairs, Eisenberg,” and hangs up on him.

“Right,” Jesse says aloud. He manages something like a grin at the doorman who looks at Jesse very dubiously but still holds the door open for him.

Andrew texted Jesse his room number this morning when they both woke up sober enough to remember that they hadn’t worked out logistics like that last night, but Jesse still checks it six times during the elevator ride to Andrew’s floor.

He checks it twice more before he knocks on the door he hopes is Andrew’s and then once more before Andrew answers. His phone buzzes while he’s holding it, meaning he’s reading a text from Justin ( _go get em tiger! c if u can make him shoot his special web_ ) when Andrew opens the door.

“Hi,” Jesse says, shoving his phone into his pocket and trying to look like he only has eyes for Andrew. Which isn’t hard, not at _all_ , since Andrew looks fantastic. He’s wearing a dark green button down and tight blue jeans and his feet are bare. Jesse’s wearing his best jacket and he ironed his jeans but he still feels totally underdressed.

“Hi,” Andrew breathes, beaming at him. He reaches out and touches Jesse’s cheek then drops his hand and pulls Jesse into the room. Jesse finds himself pressed up against the closing door and then Andrew is touching him again, kissing him this time, light and careful.

“Hello,” Jesse says, like they haven’t already done the greeting part of tonight to death. He feels his cell vibrate against his ass but ignores it. “I, um. I think your doorman thinks I’m here to murder you.”

Andrew laughs, resting his forehead against Jesse’s. “Are you?” he asks. His hands are on Jesse’s waist, stroking his hip bones with his thumbs and Jesse sort of wants to melt right there.

“Yes,” Jesse says, “I’ve been sent here by...” He trails off. “Fuck, I need to read Spider-man, don’t I?”

“The Green Goblin,” Andrew supplies for him and either he’s doing a good job of not laughing in Jesse’s face or he genuinely doesn’t care that Jesse has the pop culture knowledge of a snail. “And yes, why don’t you stock comics? Comics are great; they have pictures.”

“Because comics aren’t _books_ ,” Jesse tells him, scandalised. And then, just in case Andrew’s about to get offended, he adds, “I brought wine.”

“You’re fantastic,” Andrew says, kissing him and making Jesse wonder if he really likes wine or something. “And so is wine, come on.”

He takes Jesse’s free hand and pulls him into the room. Or, not a room, it’s more like a suite. Andrew has an honest-to-god living room in his hotel room and there’s a table in the centre which has been set for two, plates covered by silver cloches which Jesse hadn’t thought really existed anywhere outside Tom and Jerry cartoons.

“I ordered pasta,” Andrew says, pulling out a chair then waving for Jesse to sit down. “It felt weird and presumptuous to order for you but then I thought that we aren’t really at a restaurant, it’s more like I’m cooking for you and it wouldn’t be weird for me to decide what we ate then and... Oh god, make me stop talking.” Andrew covers his face, laughing in helpless little hitches.

Jesse’s glad he’s already sitting down because he feels wobbly with how much he likes Andrew’s babbling. He catches Andrew’s hand and - because apparently he’s been reading too much Austen - kisses the inside of his wrist.

Andrew stops laughing and looks down at Jesse with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking now.”

“It’s fine,” Jesse says, “And so is pasta, by the way.”

“Oh god,” Andrew says, sinking into the chair opposite Jesse’s. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, I’m usually much more suave, I swear.”

“I don’t like suave,” Jesse tells him, truthfully. “Suave people make me feel inadequate.”

Andrew flashes him a quick, grateful smile and reaches for the wine Jesse brought. “When I woke up this morning, I swore I was never drinking again but, well, ten hours is similar to never again, right?”

“Totally,” Jesse agrees, putting his hand over his glass once Andrew’s filled it half way. “Although I don’t think I should be allowed to serve customers hungover ever again. I nearly let someone buy _The Da Vinci Code_ this morning.”

“Would have have been a disaster?” Andrew asks, lifting the covers from their plates and setting them on the floor.

“Completely,” Jesse agrees, nodding so hard that he nearly clacks his teeth on his first forkful of pasta. “Leaving aside the catastrophe of the plot and writing style, it isn’t even properly punctuated and it’s - ” He makes himself stop. “Sorry, you don’t care.”

“I do,” Andrew tells him, eyes wide. “I’m just starting to worry about my own punctuation skills at this point. You don’t make people take a grammar test before they date you, do you?”

Jesse probably would if he could, but he’s pretty sure he’d do his best to grade in Andrew’s favour. Even if he turns out not to be able to use semi-colons. “We’re already on a date,” he points out.

“Yes, I know.” Andrew twirls his fork between pasta shells. “Saying ‘before they become your boyfriend’ seemed really arrogant.” He glances up at Jesse. “Although, if you do have a position open...”

Jesse’s heart is pounding so hard he can’t swallow. He takes a gulp of wine then puts down his glass. “You don’t need to say that,” he assures him. “I’m not expecting anything; I know things are awkward for you.”

Andrew reaches over and grabs Jesse’s hand. “I’d like to try,” he says. “If you would. Jesse, I - ” Across the room, a cell phone starts to ring. Andrew swears. “Ignore it, I don’t care who’s calling me right now. I was trying to say that if there’s any chance that you’re interested then I definitely am.” His cell finally stops ringing and Andrew sighs. “Depending on how tonight goes, obviously. I’d hate to rush you.”

Jesse already knows what his answer is going to be, but he’s nothing if he’s not cautious. “Right,” he agrees, “I mean, you might turn out to be boring or something.”

Andrew gasps, clutching a hand to his chest. “Take that back,” he exclaims, “I’ll have you know I am the master of sparkling charm and wit.”

Jesse doesn’t doubt it. “Yeah? Well my Great Aunt Milly once said I was a delightful young man.” He pauses for effect. “I mean, sure, I was eight at the time and I think she was blinded by my curls.”

Andrew laughs. “I can imagine,” he says, “I’m rather blinded by them myself.” He reaches out. “May I?”

Since no one ever usually asks before they try to tweak Jesse’s curls, he says yes without meaning to. Andrew strokes his fingers through Jesse’s hair, winding strands around his fingers and pulling slightly. Jesse can’t help leaning in to it, letting his eyes close.

“God, Jesse,” Andrew murmurs. “Have you finished eating?”

Jesse had forgotten he’d even started eating. “Sure,” he manages then takes Andrew’s hand when Andrew offers it, following him over to the long leather sofa in front of an unnecessarily large TV.

“This thing is sort of squeaky and uncomfortable,” Andrew apologises, “but I’m not sure if it’d rude to buy myself a new one to replace it.”

Jesse sits down cautiously and the cushion beneath his ass exhales, making him sink down a couple of inches. When nothing more disastrous happens, he looks up at Andrew, smiling. “I have successfully thwarted your devil couch,” he says, proud.

Andrew grins at him and sinks down next to him, arm sliding immediately around his shoulders. Jesse isn’t sure if he’ll look embarrassingly eager by leaning straight into Andrew’s side but, before he can work it out, Andrew’s leaning into _him_.

“I love your shirt,” Andrew tells him, fingers toying with the top button, a barely there pressure just below Jesse’s throat. “But if I may just make one suggestion.” Slowly, giving Jesse plenty of times to object, he starts to unbutton Jesse’s shirt. Jesse’s disappointed when he stops after only three buttons. “There.”

Jesse glances down. He can see his collarbones and a V of pale chest, not very inspiring but if Andrew likes it, well. “Thank you,” he says, “for your expert fashion advice.”

Andrew laughs, pressing his face into Jesse’s throat. “Just call me Gok Wan,” he agrees. (Or, Jesse assumes that’s agreement. He has no idea who or what a Gok Wan is.)

“I’d rather call you Andrew,” Jesse says, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it gets Andrew looking up at him so Jesse can kiss him, anyway.

Twenty minutes later, they’re sprawled out on the sofa - which is just as uncomfortable as Andrew warned, but it doesn’t matter - their legs tangled together and Jesse’s shirt lying discarded on the floor.

Andrew’s shirt has somehow gotten open too and Jesse can’t stop touching his chest, mostly because Andrew’s chest is ridiculous: wide shoulders, hard pecs and solid abs and, shit, Jesse wants to touch him forever.

“I don’t usually look quite like this,” Andrew says, ducking his head. “This is all Spider-man training. Usually I’m just a skinny boy from London.”

Jesse drags his thumbs across Andrew’s belly towards his navel. “I like skinny boys from London, too,” he says. He’d like Andrew however he looked; there’s no doubt about that.

Andrew leans down, kissing under Jesse’s chin then fixing his mouth to Jesse’s adam’s apple, sucking and lipping the skin carefully until Jesse is shifting under him, trying to work out how to subtly slide a hand between them to relieve some pressure on his aching cock.

“Oh god,” Andrew groans. “Do you have any rules about sex on a first date?”

“This is our second date,” Jesse says, “and no. Not particularly.”

Andrew sits up slightly, grinning down at him. “Well in that case - ” His cell phone starts to ring again, closer and louder now they’ve moved across the room. Andrew groans. “Oh fuck _off_.”

“Maybe you’d better answer it,” Jesse forces himself to say, kind of selflessly, he thinks.

Muttering to himself, Andrew rolls off the sofa and over to what Jesse guesses is the bedroom. Jesse is kind of proud of the fact that Andrew staggers a little bit, less graceful than normal.

The ringing cuts off and Jesse sneaks a look at the doorway but when Andrew doesn’t come back immediately, he slides a hand down and readjusts himself, groaning when his zipper is no longer digging straight into his hard-on.

At first, he can’t hear Andrew saying anything but then he gradually becomes aware of Andrew’s voice rising higher and louder and then it becomes awkward to be lying on Andrew’s sofa, waiting for makeouts to resume while Andrew argues with someone, so he sits up, trying to decide if he should go try to be supportive or wait here.

Luckily, the decision’s made for him a couple of minutes later by Andrew snapping, “Go to hell, then,” and storming back into the living room area.

“Um,” Jesse says then can’t think of anything else to say. Andrew’s still flushed, but from anger now, not the delicious sex flush he had going before.

Andrew sighs and slumps against the doorframe, looking tired. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry. Did you hear much of that?”

Jesse shakes his head quickly. “Nothing. Should I... Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Andrew say shortly then, “Sorry. Again. It’s just, it was just my, um, ex. He’s being an arsehole but it’s nothing you need to worry about.” He makes a visible effort to perk up, drawing his shoulders back and all Jesse can think is _actor_. “Now, where were we?”

Jesse really wants to press for more details - Andrew looks so drained all of a sudden - but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. He doesn’t even really understand what he’s _doing_ here, making out with this gorgeous, ridiculous man.

Before he can work out the words to ask, Andrew’s cell starts to ring again.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Andrew explodes, thumping his heel back into the wall hard enough to make them both wince. “Never mind; I’m not talking to him again.”

Jesse stands up. “Do you need me to go?”

“No,” Andrew says quickly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want you to.” His phone stops ringing then starts again immediately.

Jesse bends and picks up his shirt, shrugging it back on. “I’m going to go,” he says firmly. He puts his hands on Andrew’s shoulders and Andrew looks up at him, expression so lost that Jesse wants to fix this, whatever it is, offer whatever it would take.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew says sadly. “I’m going to kill him if that’s any consolation.”

“Lots,” Jesse promises, nodding. He kisses Andrew’s already kiss-bruised mouth. “I, um. I’m not mad or anything.”

Andrew’s fingers tangle in Jesse’s sleeves for a moment but then his cell rings _again_ and he groans. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll hire a hit on this arsehole and then I’ll call you.”

“Let me know if you need an alibi,” Jesse says, kissing him one more time before letting himself out.

The door hasn’t closed all the way before he hears, “ _What_ , Alex; I don’t have any-fucking-thing left to say to you.”

Jesse folds his arms across his chest, cold in the sudden change in temperature between Andrew’s couch and the hallway. He presses the call button for the elevator, too distracted to worry about potential germs, and tries not to read anything into the fact that Andrew’s ex is calling him. Andrew hadn’t sounded pleased, he tries to console himself; that’s something. Hopefully.

***

“Alex?” Justin asks, and Jesse can hear him frown him over the phone line. He can also hear him slurring, but then Jesse called him at midnight; he has only himself to blame. “Wait, shit, Alex Branson? Fuck, Andrew hooked up with him?”

“I don’t know?” Jesse says snappishly. He’s home now and lying on his bed in the dark. He’s okay with admitting that he feels sorry for himself; he should be in bed with Andrew right now. That would have been a much nicer end to the evening. “Who’s Alex Branson?”

“Some British popstar, actor wannabe,” Justin says dismissively. “I think Andrew did a movie or a TV show or something with him in like, 2001 or something? Google if you want the details, but that’s probably your guy.”

“Not my guy,” Jesse says, still feeling grumpy.

Justin laughs. “Dude, are you jealous? You’re totally jealous.”

“I’m not,” Jesse protests and then, because he’s a terrible liar, so bad that he knows Justin won’t believe him even while drunk, he amends, “Well, wouldn’t you be? We were on a date and then all of a sudden we weren’t anymore because this Alex guy kept calling.”

“ _Duuuude_ ,” Justin says, dragging it out and okay, Jesse amends his previous assessment of drunk to stoned. “Alex Branson is just this hot, toned famous guy.”

Jesse waits, but nothing else is forthcoming. “Thanks? I feel so much better now?”

There’s a clatter - probably Justin remembering he’s on the phone and detaching from his bong. “Yeah, but, I meant that that’s _all_ he is. You’re the guy Andrew’s crazy over. That’s way more important than whatever used to be going on with them.”

“You’ve met Andrew once,” Jesse points out even though he is feeling slightly reassured. Somehow.

“Twice, Jesse, _twice_. I met him that one time when you fucked him over the back of your sofa then sent him off in your NYU sweatshirt, remember?”

“I spilled coffee over him, I didn’t fuck him over anything,” Jesse starts then gives up because Justin’s still talking.

“ - so I saw the way he was looking at you then and I saw the way he looked at you at my party. The guy is way beyond gone for you, bro.” There’s a voice in the background and then Justin says, “Shit, gotta go. Brit says the bath water’s getting cold.”

Jesse blinks. “Britney’s there with you?”

“Yeah.” Justin sounds too happy to be totally smug. “Showed up at the party after you guys bailed on me and, well, she hasn’t gone home yet.”

At least someone’s love life is going well. “I’m glad, Justin,” he says, meaning it. “And thanks for, um, you know.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Justin says cheerfully. “Your boy’ll be calling you up tomorrow, spewing apologies, just you wait. Later.”

“Yeah,” Jesse tells the ceiling, dropping his phone onto the bed. “Maybe.”

***

Jesse doesn’t sleep well that night and he ends up jerking off at three a.m. because he can’t stop replaying the feel of Andrew’s mouth dragging across his chest, the way the slightly damp friction had made Jesse’s skin want to jump toward Andrew’s lips. It should help him sleep, but it doesn’t because then he just feels guilty for getting off on memories of Andrew when Andrew’s dealing with whatever the problem is with his ex.

At least, Jesse hopes it a problem (and then feels terrible for hoping it’s a problem).

He opens the store at six because he’s awake so he might as well then sits at the counter, staring blankly at his accounts until his first customer comes in at eleven.

“Good morning,” she says brightly, “Do you have an ebook portal here?”

“An ebook portal,” Jesse echoes. He might not know much about technology, but he knows about ebooks. They’re the devil. He takes a deep breath. “No, no we don’t. We don’t and we never will. We do however have _actual_ books with _actual_ pages which you can touch and smell and feel. Are you interested in any of those?”

His voice maybe rises a bit toward the end there but he doesn’t think to feel bad about that until she’s already eyeing him like he’s a crazy person and backing rapidly toward the door.

“Have a nice day,” Jesse mutters to the closing door then sinks down between the two nearest aisles, banging his head repeatedly against a shelf (while being careful not to let any grease from his skin or hair touch the books).

“Jesse?”

Jesse looks up. He didn’t hear Abigail come in but there she is, standing over him. “Oh, right. Hi?”

“Are, um.” She tugs on the end of her braid, frowning. “Are you having a breakdown? Emma said I had to call her if you looked like you were having a breakdown.”

Is Jesse having a breakdown? He doesn’t think so. “No,” he decides, stumbling back to his feet. “No, I’m just beating myself up so I don’t beat on the customers. Sensible, right?”

“Um, I guess?” She glances around the empty store. “You don’t looks all that busy so I could watch things if you want to get a coffee or something over the road. Or maybe not a coffee. Maybe an herbal tea?”

Jesse isn’t sure if she’s kicking him out of the store for his own good or for the store’s but he still goes, slouching into Joe’s coffee shop and slumping down at the counter.

“Shit,” Joe says, “Justin said you were emo but this is bad.”

“I’m not emo,” Jesse protests, not even bothering to ask why Justin’s been telling everyone about their conversation. To be honest, he’s impressed Justin even remembers it. “I’m just...” He fiddles with the wooden stirrer that Joe kindly sticks between his fidgety fingers. “I think I’m worried?”

Joe nods sagely. He also passes Jesse a mug of coffee because unlike Abigail, he doesn’t approve of caffeine-free drinks. “Well, yeah, I’d be worried that my boyfriend had run off with his hot popstar ex, too.”

Jesse chokes on his coffee. “Um, that’s not really what I’m worried about.” It was at four a.m. but he’s a bit more rational in daylight. “I’m worried that something bad is going on. Andrew looked really upset.”

“Ah.” Joe makes a face. “Right, my bad.” He cuts a slice of coffee cake and loads it onto a plate for Jesse. “That makes way more sense.”

Someone else comes in so Joe moves away from offer Jesse moral support (or whatever that was supposed to be) to serve them. While he’s gone, Jesse checks his phone for the fiftieth time that morning and is surprised to find that somehow a text message has snuck in without him noticing.

_From: Andrew  
Feb 2 11:17  
Sorry about last night :( putting out fires today but are you free tomorrow? I miss you. Ax_

Fires? Jesse thinks. Fires sound worrying but if Andrew has the time to remember to text him then it can’t be anything catastrophic.

_To: Andrew  
Feb 2 11:32  
I’m always free._

That’s nothing but the truth but Andrew sends him back a smily face emoticon straight away so it was hopefully also the right thing to say.

When Joe comes back to the counter, he takes one look at Jesse’s face and starts laughing. “See,” he says, “I said there was nothing to worry about. More coffee?”

***

Jesse manages to spend the rest of the day blissfully not freaking out about anything beyond the usual. He works until five, lets Emma drag him out for an early dinner then falls into bed and sleeps like the dead until six the next morning when he wakes up to someone hammering on his front door like the zombie invasion has finally started.

Adrenaline pumping sickly from the sudden wake up, Jesse stumbles down the stairs and flings it open to find Joe, pale-faced and holding out a newspaper.

“Sorry, man, sorry, but I picked up the papers this morning and this shit is all over fucking all of them.”

“What shit?” Jesse asks, taking the one Joe’s thrusting at him. He scans the page quickly then finds he has to sit down on his doorstep. “Oh, _shit_.”

There’s a slightly blurry, low-quality photograph of Andrew locked at the lips with a skinny, blond guy wearing sunglasses and a stupid hat. From the angle of the unknown guy’s arm, Jesse thinks it looks like a self-taken cell phone picture. Andrew looks younger, his hair longer and shaggier but he’s still unmistakably recognisable.

Underneath the picture, the headline is big, bold and obnoxious:

**Spider-man’s Gay Sex Scandal**

_We may have spent the past couple of years drooling over him, but it turns out that Spider-man actor, Andrew Garfield, is far from the ladies’ man we all thought. An ‘anonymous’ source, believed to be an ex-boyfriend, has sold a series of incriminating photographs to British paper The Sun. The photograph posted above, is one of the least scandalous of a collection guaranteed to set a few tongues wagging and..._

Oh god. Jesse breathes, forcing himself not to freak out. This is bad, so, so bad. Oh god. Poor Andrew. No one deserves this; least of all Andrew’s, who’s the sweetest guy and...

Joe sits down next to Jesse, dropping a hand onto his knee and squeezing. “Apparently his ex wasn’t trying to get back together with him. It looks more like he was threatening to go the papers.”

Jesse puts his head down on his lap, accidentally head-bumping Joe’s hand and probably getting newspaper print all over his face. “Why would anyone do that?” he asks his jeans. He needs to get to Andrew, he thinks wildly. Except he _can’t_ go to Andrew; that would make everything so much worse right now.

Joe hugs him, quick and sideways. “Call him,” he advises. “And, look, whatever shit is about to go down, it doesn’t mean that you and him can’t still have something. You can be there for him and whatever.”

Jesse turns his head, squinting at Joe in the watery winter dawn light. “I’m going to call him,” he decides.

Joe claps him on the shoulder. “Good idea, wish I’d thought of it.”

***

Jesse spends the next hour trying to get in touch with Andrew, but his phone is constantly busy. He leaves one message, presses the key to delete it before it can be saved and then forces himself to shower and get ready for work.

His personal life and Andrew’s professional life might be in crisis but people still need books.

Jesse doesn’t know if everyone’s too busy exclaiming over Andrew’s ‘scandal’, sticking their noses into other people’s business (and fuck, how he hates celebrity) but the store is even emptier than normal this morning.

When the bell dings at lunch time, he’s half-way through trying to call Andrew again so he doesn’t look up until it too goes to voicemail. Then he does look up and nearly falls over fucking _air_ trying to get to his feet at light speed.

“Andrew, oh god,” Jesse says, holding out his hands and coming around the counter.

Andrew stops in the doorway, just rocking on the balls of his feet. He’s wearing a heavy jacket with the hood pulled half way over his face and dark shades on. It’s a pretty good disguise - if the look he’s going for is _in disguise_.

“Hi.” Andrew swallows, hard enough that it’s audible. His voice sounds shocking, like he’s been talking, or maybe yelling, all night. “I’m sorry to come here like this but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s fine,” Jesse says quickly, leaning around Andrew to lock the front door and flip the closed sign over. (Sure, people deserve access to books but no one’s making use of it today and Andrew sounds wrecked.)

“Thank you.” Andrew shakes his hood back and pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. Jesse thought they were just part of the disguise but he sees how red and sore Andrew’s eyes look, and starts to wonder. “I tried to go to work but the set’s impossible and they’ve staked out my hotel.” He runs a shaky hand over his face and half-sags against the counter.

“I tried to call you,” Jesse says inanely, like that’s relevant here.

Andrew bites his lip. “I’m sorry. I turned off my mobile. I had to come out to my grandfather at four o’clock this morning so he didn’t hear about it first from the press and I just...” He stops, swallows. “I couldn’t deal with anyone after that.”

Jesse wants to hug him really, really badly. Instead, he puts his hand on Andrew’s back, guiding him through the store to the back. “You can stay here as long as you need to,” he promises. “And I have a no cell phone rule so you won’t have to worry about talking to anyone.”

Andrew lets himself be led up the stairs and through into Jesse’s apartment. He’s quiet and biddable and a whole load of other defeated adjectives that Jesse has never associated with Andrew before.

“Sit down on the couch,” Jesse says, trying to adopt the same brusque-but-caring tone that his mom always put on for him when he needs it. “I’ll make tea.”

“Can it be tea laced with vodka?” Andrew asks, collapsing down onto the sofa and tilting his head back against the cushions. There are dark, puffy circles under his red-rimmed eyes. Jesse has never been a violent person but he’d happily beat this Alex asshole to death if it would make Andrew stop looking like that.

“That sounds disgusting,” Jesse says honestly. “But I can stick a shot of whiskey in a cup of coffee, if you like.”

Andrew lets his eyes close and breathes out. “Yes, please,” he says quietly.

Jesse moves through the coffee-making process so hurriedly that he ends up scalding the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. He curses and sucks it into his mouth but he can’t stop for triage right now; he doesn’t want to leave Andrew alone.

When he gets back to the couch, two mugs of coffee in hand, Andrew has his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking but he’s perfectly silent and Jesse could, if he wanted to, pretend that he hasn’t seen.

Jesse really wants to, he only really knows how to comfort cats, and Andrew probably wouldn’t appreciate being scritched under the chin or offered an extra bowl of kibble.

“Hey,” he says, swallowing back a thick knot that forms in his throat at the thought of Andrew upset. “Okay, no, that’s not acceptable behaviour.” He puts the mugs down on the table, not waiting to deal with coasters and sits next to Andrew, wrapping his arms around him, firmly like if he pretends to have the right, Andrew will let him.

Andrew turns toward Jesse a little, letting his head rest against Jesse’s shoulder, rubbing at his face and making sounds like he’s mad at himself for getting upset.

“You’re okay,” Jesse says, trying to make it true. He rubs at Andrew’s shoulders in what he hopes is a comforting way. “Shh, come on.”

“Sorry,” Andrew groans after a couple of minutes. He sits up, wiping his face on his sleeve before Jesse can offer him a kleenex. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.” He looks across at Jesse, smiling wryly. “I bet you’re so hot for me right now, aren’t you?”

“You have never been more attractive,” Jesse agrees, deadpan. “I find snot a real turn-on.”

Andrew laughs shakily and accepts the box of tissues Jesse passes him. “I hate this,” he says once he’s sorted himself out, sitting back against the arm of the couch with his doctored coffee clutched in both hands. “I don’t know what to do; I’m so tired. Everyone’s acting like this is the worst thing ever. Hollywood is full of fucking domestic abusers right now, but apparently they’re still less of a liability than me. It’s not - ”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Jesse interrupts, just in case Andrew’s starting to forget that.

Andrew makes a face. “Except that I apparently had terrible taste in men when I was nineteen.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say,” Jesse agrees, pleased when Andrew manages a real smile.

After a minute, Andrew’s smile fades. “You can ask,” he says, sounding resigned.

Jesse frowns. “What do you think I want to ask?” Mostly, he just wants to ask if Andrew’s all right and if he’d mind much if Jesse locked all the doors and refused to let him go back into a world that gives this much of a damn about who anyone sleeps with.

Andrew shrugs. “The usual seems to be did I really date Alex Branson, how long for, what did I do to make him sell me out, are there really sex tapes. That kind of thing.”

“Sex tapes?” Jesse asks, surprised.

Andrew blanches then blushes. “Apparently there are a couple of papers in a bidding war for it. _God_. We, um. It’s not really a sex tape, it’s just... I mean, it is, I suppose, but it wasn’t for - ”

“Stop.” Jesse puts his hand on Andrew’s leg. “This is none of my business, please don’t tell me.”

Andrew curls his hand around Jesse’s, his fingers warm from the mug. “Do you really not mind if I stay here?” he asks.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Jesse says. Usually, he’s touchy about having people in his space, especially for unknown amounts of time, but he surprises himself by how much he means it.

***

By nightfall, Andrew’s agent is still texting him to tell him to stay put and Jesse’s starting to get hungry. It’s irrational, but he doesn’t want to call for takeout, just in case the delivery person somehow senses that a wanted celebrity is hiding upstairs, so Jesse decides to cook.

He’s half way through cheese and ham omelettes when Andrew comes to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, looking at Jesse from under his eyelashes.

“You haven’t tasted them yet,” Jesse jokes, deliberately misunderstanding.

“Jesse,” Andrew chides. “ _Thank you_.”

Jesse decides that the omelettes can survive on their own for a minute and drops his spoon, curling his arms around Andrew instead. “I wish I could do so much more,” he says seriously. “I wish I could make everyone realise what a stupid non-issue this is.”

Andrew nods, looking a bit flushed and bright eyed again. He drops his mouth to Jesse’s and kisses him clumsily. There’s none of the fun and skill from the other night; this is more desperate, hungry for something that Jesse probably doesn’t have to offer. He tries though, kissing Andrew back as hard as he can until Andrew pulls back, sniffing.

“I think the food’s burning,” he says apologetically.

Jesse spins around. There’s some singeing at the edges but nothing serious. Still, he swats Andrew on the arm with his spoon and says, “Go set the table, you’re a menace in the kitchen.”

“That’s what my mum says,” Andrew agrees, nodding. “Not for quite the same reasons though,” he adds, grabbing some knives and forks and heading to the living room.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Jesse says deadpan. “I’m going to make you eat the burned one, by the way, so be prepared for crunch.”

“You wouldn’t,” Andrew calls confidently. “You’re my _hero_ , Jesse Eisenberg.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jesse mutters, but he can’t help the little swell of pleasure in his chest.

***

Pretty much as soon as they’ve finished eating, Andrew starts yawning and he doesn’t stop throughout insisting that Jesse lets him help do the dishes.

“Look,” Jesse says at last, brandishing the bottle of dish washing soap at him and trying not to laugh when a pathetic little bubble flies out. “I have a particular order to how I do the dishes and I don’t trust anyone not to mess it up so unless you want us to have our first fight right here in the kitchen, go sit down and let me do this.”

Andrew blinks at him. “I don’t think I could cope with any more arguing today,” he says, which makes Jesse feels like an asshole. “Would it be okay if I just sat very quietly on this counter and promised not to interfere?”

Jesse puts down the bottle so he can hold onto Andrew’s forearms while he kisses him. Andrew melts into him instantly, arms turning in Jesse’s grip so he can hold onto Jesse’s elbows.

They only break the kiss when Andrew yawns again, so hard this time that his eyes water. “Sorry,” he says, making a face. “I didn’t sleep at all last night and not all that much the night before.”

“Forget sitting in here,” Jesse says. “Go to bed.” Which is when he realises that he doesn’t have a guest room. Well, he knew that, he just sort of hadn’t made the connection. “By which I mean, you should take my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“What, no,” Andrew says, looking appalled. “I’ve already barged into your home without an invitation and blubbered all over you, I can’t kick you out of your bed as well.”

Jesse folds his arms. Since he’s holding a washcloth already, he ends up with a wet and sudsy t-shirt but pretends that that didn’t happen. “If I make you sleep on the sofa, I’ll lie awake all night cursing myself out for being a shitty host.”

Andrew sucks on his bottom lip - which is ridiculously distracting - and then he beams. “Well, you know what the only solution is then, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jesse says, nodding. “We both stay awake all night.”

Andrew tries smile and yawn at the same time and his face ends up doing something weirdly wobbly and endearing. “Sleep with me tonight?” he asks and there’s nothing suggestive about his tone, he sounds too exhausted for that, but Jesse’s heart still turns over.

“Yes,” he says. “Okay, that works.”

Andrew smiles at him, soft but blinding and kisses him again. “Feel free to wake me up if I fall asleep on your side of the bed or something,” he calls over his shoulder, shuffling off to get ready for bed.

Jesse speeds through the dishes, leaving everything but the mugs to drain, then hesitates outside his own bedroom door, plotting ways to tie himself to one side of the bed so he won’t accidentally try to spoon Andrew in the middle of the night or something.

Then he actually opens the door and completely forgets everything he’s been worrying about because oh look, there’s Andrew, sprawled out and sleeping in Jesse’s bed. Now Jesse’s thinking up elaborate plans to make him stay, just there, forever. Some of those also involve rope.

Careful not to make any noise, Jesse tiptoes to the bed, grabs his sleep clothes off the pillow and goes to the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.

Andrew’s shifted around by the time he comes out, curled up on his side, his face pushed between the two pillows and his neck bent at a funny angle. Jesse tells himself not to, but he has to do something, can’t let Andrew sleep like that all night. He touches his fingers lightly to the back of Andrew’s head, murmuring stupid things that he’s glad Andrew isn’t awake to hear, and Andrew rolls over, settling more comfortably on his pillow.

Pleased that he remembers some of the rites of sharing a bed even though it’s been years, Jesse walks around the bed and climbs in the other side.

It should probably feel stranger than it does to share a bed with Andrew since Jesse has been terrible at sharing his bed with anyone since Anna, worried that he’ll kick or fart or accidentally fall asleep on their face and smother them - which _isn’t_ what happened with Anna. But Jesse’s tired and Andrew’s deep breathing is rhythmic and relaxing and Jesse falls asleep before his brain ever gets around to worrying.

***

Jesse wakes up to clacking sounds at some still-dark time of night. He sits up, imagining burglars downstairs, trying to steal his books then realises what the clacking actually is: Andrew, awake and turned away from Jesse, Jesse’s clunky old laptop that he hardly ever uses open on the mattress in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” Jesse asks, swallowing down a yawn.

Andrew jumps and turns around slowly. The white light from the laptop makes him look pale and shadowed. “The tabloids have woken up back home,” he says heavily. “It’s all starting up again.”

Jesse wants to rip the laptop out of his hands. “Do you need to read it?” he asks instead.

Andrew laughs shakily. “I think I need someone to _stop_ me reading it,” he says and that’s all the invitation Jesse needs. He leans over Andrew and takes the laptop from him, snapping it closed and shoving it under the bed. It can stay there to rot for all he cares.

When he turns back around, Jesse puts his hand on Andrew’s bare back, spreads his hand over the line of his spine. “Whatever they were saying, it’s not true.” He pauses. “Unless they were being awesomely supportive. Was anyone being awesomely supportive.”

Andrew arches back into the press of Jesse’s hand. “A few people,” he says without lifting his head. “GLAAD like me and, randomly, Perez Hilton thinks Alex is an arsehole. The UK papers are mostly mocking me, which is better than the things I read yesterday about how I’m corrupting America’s children.” He flops over onto his back, blinking up at Jesse with his huge dark eyes. “Surely if they’re letting their kids watch films about a vigilante human-spider person who regularly gets his girlfriends killed, the fact that I like boys isn’t what’s going to scar them?”

Jesse has no idea what to say. He could start a rant, he knows he could, he has a _lot_ of opinions about the stupidity of some people but it’s the middle of the night and he doesn’t think Andrew needs to hear it right now. “The fact that you like boys is no one else’s business,” he says seriously. “You’re gorgeous and talented and charming; you can’t let bigoted idiots get you down.” He clears his throat. “Or, um, something less embarrassingly strident. ‘Chin up, dude,’ maybe? Would that work?”

Andrew laughs softly. “Jesse,” he says, staring up at him like he’s... like he’s said something amazing. He looks rumpled and tired, his hands jittering on the sheet but his eyes look calm when they settle on Jesse’s face.

“Yes, hi.” Jesse smiles and leans forward, kissing him softly on the corner of his mouth because Andrew’s here and because he can.

Andrews arms lift and wrap around Jesse’s neck, pulling him close and turning his head to catch his mouth full-on in a proper kiss. He pushes his tongue into Jesse’s mouth, lush and wet and Jesse feels his heart start to pound, his skin grow hot.

“You’re welcome?” Jesse tries although if Andrew’s only kissing Jesse because he’s grateful that Jesse’s on his side then Jesse might cry.

Andrew shakes his head. “Don’t be silly,” he says. “If that was how I thanked people who support me, I’d be blowing Stephen Fry right now.”

That’s not really a mental image that Jesse was expecting so he has to kiss Andrew again to clear it. Andrew curls his tongue against Jesse’s, fingers sliding around the back of Jesse’s head to push him down, deepen the kiss. Jesse gasps, head spinning, and grabs onto Andrew’s biceps, holding on hard enough that he’d worry about bruising him if he could think of anything beyond the slick, warm slide of Andrew’s kisses.

Andrew squirms under him, pressing one knee against Jesse’s hip, nudging him over so he’s kneeling between Andrew’s legs. Andrew’s wearing boxers and so is Jesse so that’s a lot of bare, hairy skin pressing together.

“What are we - ?” Jesse asks, pulling back with an effort. He thinks he knows where this is going but he has to make sure. “What would you like to do?”

“I want to stop thinking,” Andrew tells him. “I want you to make me stop thinking.” It sounds almost like a question, like he thinks there’s any possibility Jesse is going to turn him down.

“Shit yes,” Jesse says, so quickly that he forgets the comma. “I mean, are you sure? You’re all upset and...” He waves a hand.

“Outed,” Andrew tells him, mouth twisting.

“Don’t think about that,” Jesse says firmly. He puts his fingers over Andrew’s lips. “Please don’t.” Andrew is always so self-assured, so cheerful and confident and happy and just a tiny bit neurotic in a charming way; Jesse cannot stand hearing him sound so defeated.

Andrew rolls onto his side, taking Jesse with him and presses forward for another kiss. He can’t seem to settle, asking for kisses but moving on before Jesse can deepen them. Jesse catches him by the hip, holding him still and pressing him back down into the mattress, straddling his waist and holding onto his wrists while he licks slowly and patiently across Andrew’s bottom lip.

“Oh,” Andrew says, less a word and more a breath and twists underneath Jesse. He tips his head back, groaning. “Jesse, Jesse. Give me my hand back for ten seconds? I can’t get my boxers down like this.”

Jesse’s stomach fizzes at the thought of Andrew, naked in his bed and he lets go of Andrew’s wrists. He’s not exactly a master of domination, here.

Somehow, Andrew taking off his underwear requires a lot more twisting and turning and pressing soft patches of his skin against sensitive parts of Jesse’s than Jesse would expect. Not that he’s complaining.

“Jesse,” Andrew breathes. He’s naked and so attractive that Jesse isn’t sure he should even be allowed to look. He fits his hands to Andrew’s bare hips, just touching.

“Yes?” Jesse asks. “What can I do for you?”

Andrew smiles, reaching his arms up above his head, pale skin stretching over solid muscles. “I’d love to see you naked,” he asks. “Please?”

Jesse kisses him quickly then sits back, glad that it’s dark enough that he can pretend Andrew won’t be able to see quite how pale and skinny he is or the weird pink blotches he gets on his chest when he’s turned on.

“Jesse, god, you’re gorgeous,” Andrew says, sitting up and running his hands over Jesse’s chest as soon as he pulls his clothes off.

Jesse doesn’t say anything, because he thinks denying it and asking if Andrew needs his eyes tested probably wouldn’t be appropriate right now. Instead, he pulls Andrew close and kisses his cheek. Andrew shivers and presses close, hiding his face in Jesse’s shoulder.

Jesse kisses him hard then pushes him back down onto the bed. He rolls Andrew over, kissing slowly down his back. His skin is smooth, a little dry in patches, which Jesse likes because it makes him taste real.

Andrew starts making soft little wanting sounds as soon as Jesse kisses the nape of his neck, but he’s panting by the time Jesse reaches the small of his back and pauses there, overwhelmed at what Andrew’s letting him do and wondering if he has the nerve to move lower.

“Jesse,” Andrew groans, rocking his hips from side to side. Jesse wonders if he wants to push back but is trying to be polite.

Jesse kisses the curve of Andrew’s left ass cheek and Andrew curls forward, resting his head on folded arms.

“Tongue or fingers?” Jesse asks. He means it as an actual question, he doesn’t want to presume anything, but Andrew just groans again. “Andrew?”

“Oh god,” Andrew mumbles. Then, “Fingers. But can I raincheck on the tongue?”

Jesse smiles. “Definitely.” He sits up and grabs the lube from the very back of his bedside table drawer, relieved that it’s still liquid. It’s pretty old, he’d been worried.

Andrew makes gorgeous, helpless noises into the pillow when Jesse slides one finger inside but he’s faded into breathless silence by the time Jesse is adding a third. “Please,” Andrew groans again, rolling his hips up, needy and so hot that Jesse’s hands shake when he tries to put on the condom.

Andrew is shaking too, trembling beneath him and Jesse just wants to keep him here forever, wrap him up and hold him until the world is no longer full of assholes who’ll sell him out for a quick buck.

He can’t do that, but he can lean back - it pushes his hips forward and Andrew chokes - and grab the edge of the comforter, pull it up over both of them, cocooning them in grey-edged darkness.

Andrew doesn’t ask, just makes fists in the edge of the comforter, rocks back against Jesse.

It’s hot in their blanket fort and Jesse can’t catch a full breath but he’s too busy enjoying the slap-slide that their bodies make together to really worry about that. Andrew’s braced on straight arms now, screwing himself back against Jesse and Jesse does his best to be right where Andrew needs him.

“Fuck, fuck,” Andrew mutters under his breath and sits back suddenly, thighs bracketing Jesse’s, their knees overlapping. He’s half in Jesse’s lap and he drops his head back against Jesse’s shoulder. A gust of cool air blows in from where the movement has lifted the comforter.

Jesse runs his hands down Andrew’s chest, touching sweat-slippery skin and palming his nipples. Andrew swears some more when Jesse twists his nipple, experimenting.

“Sorry,” Jesse mutters, kissing the damp hair at Andrew’s temple. “Did I hurt you?”

Andrew turns his head blindingly, murmuring, “No,” against Jesse’s mouth, so Jesse does it again. Andrew reaches down, grabbing awkwardly at Jesse’s thighs, fingernails biting bluntly into Jesse’s skin and making him rock up instinctively. Something twinges in his knee but he ignores it; he’s having semi-energetic sex with someone important so his creaky old bookstore owner body is just going to have to deal.

“If I don’t come soon, I’m going to die,” Andrew tells him, conversational and hilariously melodramatic.

Jesse doesn’t believe him, but he’s also not prepared to take the risk, so he wraps a hand around Andrew’s cock, working him steadily. He drags his free hand up the inside of Andrew’s thighs, his fingers over Andrew’s tightening balls.

Andrew’s hips jerk forward and he makes a sound that Jesse has never heard or read about or even imagined before.

“Yeah, yes, yeah, please,” Andrew mumbles, gone. Jesse kisses the corner of his mouth and presses the edge of one fingernail just below the head of Andrew’s cock. Andrew comes so hard that he half-twists with the force of it, trying to curl into Jesse and failing because Jesse is still behind him and balls-deep inside him.

Andrew scrambles off him, making Jesse have to physically stop himself from reaching out and reeling him back in. He doesn’t need to worry though, because Andrew just crawls back into his lap, facing him this time and kisses Jesse hard, fumbling the condom off and replacing it with his hand.

Jesse feels his mouth drop open, his head tip back and he’s only peripherally aware of Andrew kissing his jaw, his throat, his collarbones while jerking him off.

“Coming,” Jesse chokes, because it seems polite to tell him.

“Good,” Andrew says, laughing, and then Jesse does.

***

The next morning, Jesse wakes up with Andrew curled against his side, playing with his hair.

“What are you doing?” Jesse asks then winces at the gummy way his lips stick together, wishing he could go brush his teeth without Andrew noticing.

Andrew tilts his head back and smiles at him softly. “Hi,” he says, “Good morning.” He tugs on one of Jesse’s curls until Jesse leans down to kiss him, gummy lips and all.

“Are you - ” Jesse starts to ask then stops because no, Andrew’s probably not all right. The sex was good but Jesse is under no illusions that he gives magic orgasms. Still, Andrew wasn’t gotten out of bed to check the internet yet, so maybe he did help a little bit. “How did you sleep?” he asks instead.

“Mm.” Andrew slides against Jesse’s side, sinuous and still so very naked. “Not too badly,” he says, laying kisses across Jesse’s bare shoulder. “You make an excellent pillow.”

Normally, Jesse can’t stand lying around in bed when he isn’t sleeping, but Andrew is enough of an incentive to keep him right where he is.

“I can also do a passable comforter and my topsheet isn’t bad. I suck as an undersheet though; my corners aren’t elastic enough.”

Andrew laughs. His hand had been on Jesse’s chest but now it starts to slide down, under the comforter and settling on his belly. “What time do you have to open the shop?”

Jesse feels his eyes widen. Shit. He hadn’t forgotten about the store; he _never_ forgets about the store, but he also hasn’t really thought about it since he left Emma to close up yesterday.

“Emma’s working today,” he says after mentally rolling through his daily schedule. “If she gets there and I’m not in, she’ll probably come knock on the door to check I’m not dead but she’ll also open up, so that’s okay.”

Andrew rubs his palm over the trail of hair below Jesse’s navel, stopping just above the base of his sleepily-hardening cock. “Maybe you should text her then,” Andrew suggests. “I’d like to keep you in bed as long as possible, if that’s okay?”

“That’s, um.” Andrew turns his hand, wrapping it around Jesse’s semi-erection. “Yes, that’s. Whatever you want.” He reaches out blindly and fishes his cell off the nightstand. “I really cannot text Emma while you’re jerking me off, though. Somehow, she’ll just _know_.”

“Which would be terrible,” Andrew agrees and Jesse can’t tell if he’s mocking him or not. “I’d never be able to look her in the eye again.” He waits for Jesse to start composing his message then squirms around, sliding down the bed and settling between Jesse’s legs.

“What are you doing?” Jesse squeaks. It’s pretty obvious, actually, since Andrew is leaning down and kissing the top of Jesse’s thigh.

“Nothing,” Andrew says, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes. “Carry on texting.”

 _Static in bed wish Anothers_ he types, which is apparently what his predictive text decides he wants to say when Andrew is sucking the head of his cock into his mouth and Jesse’s fingers have lost all coherency.

“Andrew, fuck,” Jesse not-complains, “Wait.” He ruins his own protest by arching up his hips and losing his last T to a groan.

Andrew pulls off with a pop. “I’ll wait,” he says, smiling up at Jesse. “But please be quick?”

“Yes,” Jesse agrees blankly, fingers already trying to sort out his nonsense words into real ones. “I’ll be so quick, you have no - ” He thinks his message finally makes sense - he hopes so anyway because that’s a good as it’s going to be - and hits send. Then he practically throws his phone onto the floor, making Andrew laugh and try to go back to blowing him all at once.

It feels so good that Jesse actually forgets to breathe and he drops his hands to Andrew’s hair, carding his fingers through the tangled, fluffy mess of it.

“That feels fantastic,” he groans, wishing he could stop talking but finding it impossible. On the floor, his cell vibrates with a message - undoubtedly Emma texting him back to mock him endlessly - but Jesse ignores it, closing his eyes and stroking Andrew’s scalp with his fingertips and trying not to think about anything else.

***

They spend the morning having breakfast and making out against the kitchen wall for a while and then have some slippery, potentially dangerous shower-sex. All in all, it’s a fantastic morning, right up until the moment when Andrew finds his cell shoved down the back of the sofa, reluctantly turns it back on, and it starts ringing off the hook, shrill tone shattering their calm.

Andrew takes one look at the display and groans. “It’s my publicist,” he says.

Jesse reaches over instinctively and squeezes his shoulder. “Is that bad?”

Andrew shrugs noncommittally. “She’s better than my agent, I suppose. At least she’s only mad at Alex.”

“Wait, your agent’s mad at _you_?” Jesse asks but Andrew holds up his hand, making an apologetic face while he answers the phone.

“Good morning, Shauna,” he says, leaning his head on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse hears a woman’s voice start to shout indistinctly and instinctively leans away.

Andrew lets him go with a rueful little smile then turns and walks back into the bedroom, humming what sounds like agreement every few seconds.

Jesse hovers for a while, trying to think of something he can do to help but Andrew shows no signs of coming back and Jesse hates feeling useless so he grabs his shoes and heads down to the store.

At least if his books are having some kind of crisis, he’ll be able to help.

“Wow,” Emma says, glancing up at him then back down at the book she’s... Jesus _Christ_ , she’s writing in her textbook. Jesse should have stayed upstairs and maybe put his hand in the toaster oven. It would have been less painful.

“Wow?” Jesse asks, subtly-yet-not sliding over one of the ring-bound notebooks he keeps under the counter.

Emma ignores it, enthusiastically underscoring something in her book so hard that all the other pages in the store must feel it and wince. “Wow that you’ve actually gotten out of bed _and_ put on clothes. Where’s lover boy, have you tired him out? Has he gone back to his web for a nap?”

“Shh,” Jesse hisses because there are at least three customers in the store right now and Emma’s constant need to mock him is not a good enough reason for people to find out where Andrew’s hiding.

“Oh, what?” Emma rolls her eyes. “Now if I said, golly, Jesse, how was your night of passion with Andrew... Mmmph!”

Jesse covers her mouth with his hand and glares. One of their customers, a young girl wearing a beret is definitely looking at them. Though might be because Jesse is attempting to smother Emma. He drops his hand and steps back, raising his eyebrows warningly.

Emma sticks her tongue out then huffs. “Fine.” She leans over the counter, elbows on her book. “But seriously, how was it? Was it magic? Are you in _lurve_?”

Jesse flips her off and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to think about any of it too closely; if he lets himself think about it, he’s afraid the answer to Emma’s last question is going to be yes.

***

Jesse stays down in the store, re-shelving until mid-afternoon when Andrew texts him.

_From: Andrew  
Feb 4 16:09  
Come upstairs? Wear something pretty ;)_

“Um,” Jesse says, standing up and wincing when his knees crack. He waves his phone awkwardly at Emma, carefully not letting her see the screen. “I’m going to go back up.”

Emma laughs at him. “Put a sock on the door!” she calls. “And if the floorboards start rocking, I’ll just tell the customers that we have really big rats.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Jesse groans and practically runs out the store before she can say anything even more traumatising.

It’s not until he reaches his front door that he realises that he didn’t pick up his keys when he left this morning. He feels kind of stupid knocking on his own front door, but he forgets all about that when Andrew opens the door and just fucking _beams_ at him.

“What?” Jesse asks, frowning. “Did I accidentally turn into a unicorn again on the way up? I hate when that happens.”

“No, just.” Andrew shakes his head, looking down at his shoes then back up at Jesse, still grinning. He reaches out and touches the bridge of Jesse’s nose. “Your face. I missed it.”

Jesse blushes so fast and so hard that he _feels_ the heat flood his whole upper body. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, trying to move past Andrew and into the apartment but Andrew stops him, wraps his arms around Jesse and hugs him.

“One minute,” Andrew murmurs into his ear. “Please?”

“Sure,” Jesse says, frowning but hugging Andrew back because, well, of course he’s going to give Andrew a hug if he wants one. “Did you, um. So you haven’t had a good day, then, huh?”

Andrew inhales like he’s going to answer then just squeezes Jesse one more time before stepping back. “Let’s not talk about that,” he says, “Let’s have dinner instead.”

“Oh shit,” Jesse swears, stopping in the hallway. “I need to go to the store, we don’t have any food.” He’s also realising that he forgot to have lunch. Huh, that’s probably what that rumbling sound was around two p.m.

“Jesse,” Andrew chides gently. “Stop panicking and come with me.” He curls his hand around Jesse’s wrist, tugging him into the kitchen and - oh.

“You cooked?” Jesse asks staring at the plates of chicken and bowl of fries in the centre of the table. He arches an eyebrow. “Andrew, do you have magical powers you forgot to mention?”

“Yep,” Andrew agrees, nodding. “Sorry, I forgot to say. I can turn ordinary household items into chicken and chips.” He bounces on his toes, almost like he’s nervous. “No, my publicist wanted to come and see me and I only agreed to give her your address if she brought us food.”

Jesse takes a moment to decide how he feels about Andrew inviting people into his home. On the one hand, Jesse is really not keen on people he doesn’t know getting in his stuff, but on the other hand, he’s stupidly pleased that Andrew feels comfortable here.

“Your publicist knows about us?” is what he finally manages to ask because he’s curious about that too.

“Of course,” Andrew says quickly, frowning like that was a surprising question. Jesse doesn’t know what to do with that. What he does know is that _he_ definitely doesn’t want to be publicised.

“So,” Jesse says, distracting himself from all the feelings, “Let’s see how good a cook you are.”

***

Later that evening, after they’ve eaten and Jesse has finally agreed to let Andrew do the dishes, Andrew stands in the middle of Jesse’s living room, arms folded across his chest and looks miserable.

“What’s wrong?” Jesse asks. He’s known something was bothering Andrew; he was quiet during dinner and didn’t try to make Jesse blush even once.

“I have to go home,” Andrew tells him, looking down at the carpet. “Shauna wants me to stay and, god, I want to stay.” He looks up at Jesse, looking lost, then shakes his head. “But I need to make sure my parents haven’t had some kind of breakdown or anything.”

Jesse wishes he could pretend to be surprised, but he’s really not. “Did they really not know?” he asks. He tells his mom everything; sometimes he forgets that other adults don’t do that.

Andrew’s breath catches and he shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “I’m, uh, I’m never very subtle when I like someone so I’d sort of hoped they’d guessed? But they hadn’t and now they’re... I have to go home. I have to - .” He swallows hard but shakes his head when Jesse tries to put a hand on his arm. “Jesse, my grandmother went to buy a pint of milk and some Hobnobs from the corner shop and found that a million newspapers were talking about my sex life.”

“Wow,” Jesse says. “You really do have to go home.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrew reaches out now, takes Jesse’s hand. “This is... I really like you. I desperately want to stay with you. It’s just that the timing is rubbish and - ”

“I understand,” Jesse promises him and he does, that’s the thing. Of course Andrew has to prioritise his family over Jesse. Why shouldn’t he?

“When do you have to go?” he asks, keeping his voice light and steady because he’s not going to be selfish about this; he’s not even going to let Andrew know that he wants to be selfish.

Andrew makes a face that almost manages to contain a smile. “My flight’s tomorrow lunchtime. I, um. I probably should have flown back this evening but I just really wanted to spend some more time with you.” He steps in close and rests his forehead against Jesse. “God, you have to know I’d stay here forever if I could.”

Jesse bites his lip. They shouldn’t be moving this quickly, he’s pretty sure. They’ve only been on one real date and the only reason Andrew’s staying here is that he can’t go home, not because he’s really that attached to Jesse. Except... Except why is he _acting_ like he is that attached to Jesse?

“Jesse?” Andrew asks, cautiously. “Am I being too clingy? I mean, I can’t really help it, I think you’re amazing, but I will absolutely try to tone it down a little if I’m scaring you.”

In any other situation, Jesse would tell Andrew that he’s terrifying. Jesse is a big proponent of telling people how he’s feeling, even if it’s going to make them uncomfortable, but Andrew’s leaving tomorrow and Jesse has no idea if he’s going to come back, so for once, Jesse goes the easy route.

“You’re not scaring me,” he says, feeling less guilty when Andrew flashes a smile at him. “I mean, your taste in men is a little suspect, but otherwise...”

“Be quiet,” Andrew says softly, fondly, moving closer to Jesse and curling his arms around Jesse’s waist. “My taste in men is impeccable.” He makes a face. “This time.”

Jesse feels a twinge of guilt because he didn’t mean to remind Andrew about Alex-the-Asshole. He tilts his head up and catches Andrew’s mouth in a kiss, hoping to distract him.

“Mm,” Andrew murmurs against Jesse’s mouth, sounding successfully distracted. “Since I have to leave tomorrow, I sort of want to have all the sex possible with you tonight. Does that sound like a plan?”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “God, no,” he says deadpan. “Please don’t subject me to such a hardship.”

Andrew’s eyes are getting crinklier every time he smiles, like he’s relaxing, which is making Jesse smile easier in return. “Come on,” he says, catching Jesse’s hand. “The first stage in my dastardly plan is to inflict a blowjob on you. Then I thought I might progress to rimming. It’ll be awful; you might even scream.”

“Here’s hoping,” Jesse agrees and lets himself be towed into the bedroom.

***

“Let me drive you to the airport?” Jesse asks the next morning. He’s been awake all of ten minutes, just long enough to drag himself into the kitchen and form a lasting adoration for the cup of coffee Andrew poured him.

Usually, he’d brush his teeth and shower and dress and possibly sneak out of a window and run away rather than show someone what a disaster he is first thing in the morning, but Andrew’s leaving today; Jesse’s too sad about that to remember why appearances matter.

Andrew shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. My agent’s sending a car.” He’s dressed and standing in the space between the kitchen and the hallway, looking awkward.

Right. Of course. It’s hard for Jesse sometimes to remember that Andrew’s a big star, that he has people who will call other people when he needs a ride. Jesse looks down at his mug, feeling weird about everything again.

“Jesse?” Andrew asks. He leans against the back of Jesse’s chair, pressing his face into the side of Andrew’s neck. “You have your ‘holy fuck I’m dating a celebrity’ face on again.” He kisses Jesse’s cheek quickly. “I don’t like that face. Well, okay, that’s a lie, I like all your faces, but I like that one the least.”

Jesse feels his mouth twitch up into a smile even though he tries to hold it back. “I only have one face,” he says, pursing his lips up and turning his face to show Andrew. “See? The wind changed and it stuck like this when I was twelve.”

Andrew kisses his lips which wasn’t what Jesse intended, but he doesn’t object. They’re still kissing when there’s a knock on the door.

“I guess that’s your ride,” Jesse says, leaning away reluctantly.

Andrew looks down at his cellphone then shakes his head. “No, Shauna said she’d text so I’d know it was them.” He looks up. “You must have a visitor.” He sounds like he’s trying to be pleased about that but mostly failing.

Jesse rolls his eyes. “It’s probably Justin. Or Emma. Or maybe even Joe. It’s probably not Abigail, at least. She has some tact.”

“I don’t think I know Abigail?” Andrew asks, trailing Jesse down the stairs to the front door.

Jesse shakes his head. “No, we keep her in a box in the basement and only let her out on special occasions.” Then he feels kind of mean, because Abigail is one of the least annoying people in his life. “Or, well, that or she’s sixteen and so couldn’t come to Justin’s party.”

“Do I get to pick which answer I believe?” Andrew asks, hand on Jesse’s hip when he reaches out to unlock the door.

It occurs to Jesse that he’s still wearing ratty boxers and a stretched out t-shirt that he’s had since he was sixteen and that he almost definitely has horrific sex-hair and a giant hickey on his neck but, well, he didn’t ask anyone to knock on his door so whatever they see will be their own fault.

Except.

The person at his door isn’t anyone he recognises; it’s a guy in a sports jacket and chinos. “Jesse Eisenberg?” he asks, his eyes travelling slowly over Jesse’s from the top his hair down.

“Yes?” Jesse says and then a lot of things happen: the guy puts his hand on Jesse’s front door and shoves, Andrew snaps out a startled curse, stepping back at the same time as the guy whips a camera out from behind his back and a flashbulb goes off in Jesse’s face, so bright that he can’t see anything until after Andrew’s dragged him back out of the doorway, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh my god,” Jesse breathes, sagging back against the wall and watching yellow lights dance in front of his eyes.

Andrew stares at him through the after flashes. “There’s no way he didn’t just get a picture of the both of us, is there?” he asks helpless. Jesse doesn’t answer because he doesn’t want to lie. Andrew nods. “Right. With me... here and you looking like that and. Fuck.”

Jesse watches him tug at his hair and feels unexpectedly hollow. It’s not like he thought that Andrew was going to want to admit to the world that he was sleeping with some guy who owned some bookstore in Cobble Hill, Jesse doesn’t even _want_ him to do that but it still smarts to have confirmation that Andrew’s definitely embarrassed by him.

“They already know you’re gay,” he tries then winces because that’s not helpful, is it?

“Right, but they don’t...” Andrew tears at his hair. “This going to be horrible for you. I’m so sorry.”

Jesse pauses, frowning. “Me?” he asks. “Why _me_?” Andrew just winces and it doesn’t take Jesse long to work it out. “Oh god, they know my name; they’re going to come to the _store_.” He cannot have paparazzi trooping through his beautiful bookstore; they’ll ruin it. “Andrew, they’re going to touch things.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything, just watches Jesse for another couple of seconds then drops his gaze, heaving a shaky sigh. He looks as miserable as he did when the story first broke and Jesse hates that; he’d thought he’d made it better but everything’s just gotten ruined again.

Andrew’s cell phone beeps and he jumps. “It’s Shauna,” he says, checking the display. “They’re here. I’ll - ” He reaches out and Jesse thinks Andrew’s going to pull him in for a kiss, but Andrew just squeezes his shoulder instead. “I am so sorry about all this, but I’m, I’m going to fix it, okay? I promise.” He looks a little wild.

Jesse wants to grab him, tell him that he wishes he could fix it for _Andrew_ , but Andrew’s gone without a backward glance.

***

Two hours after Andrew leaves, Jesse gets a text:

_From: Andrew  
Feb 5 10:58  
Just boarding. So sorry about everything. A x_

Jesse stares at it for a while, tapping his thumb against the screen for so long that Andrew’s probably already on the airplane by the time he replies.

_To: Andrew  
Feb 5 11:11  
Have a safe flight. I just want to make sure you know that I didn’t tell the press you were here and neither did Emma etc._

Andrew doesn’t reply. He doesn’t reply seven hours later either when he should have landed in London. By the second day, Jesse stops waiting for a reply and gets back to his regular day-to-day life. Books won’t stack themselves after all.

***

Days roll by into one week then two and Jesse still doesn’t hear anything from Andrew. He’s not surprised; it might be nice to be surprised, he thinks. It hurts worse, maybe, that he’s been expecting this all along.

Andrew gives an interview to some British talkshow then asks for privacy. Jesse doesn’t watch the interview and he doesn’t touch a newspaper to find out if they’re respecting Andrew’s wishes but Emma tells him that things are looking a bit better.

Just like Andrew warned Jesse they would, the press find Dust Jacket and he has to contend with a steady stream of men and women barging through, bugging him for quotes and getting their boots on his books.

That’s really not okay.

“Maybe we could booby-trap the door,” Emma muses thoughtfully, standing next to Jesse on the mezzanine and watching two journalists in ugly cars nearly rear-end each other racing for the last parking space.

“Maybe I could hide under my comforter and never, ever go out in public again,” Jesse suggests morosely. It’s possible that this might be funny in other circumstances but, in _these_ circumstances, it’s mostly just hell.

He misses Andrew, he wants his peaceful store back, oh, and, did he mention? He _really fucking misses Andrew_.

“Jesse,” Emma chides. She bumps her hip against his. “If you do that, I’ll let Justin into the store unsupervised.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t,” he says because Emma pretends that Jesse is the only one who loves this place, but he knows that isn’t true.

The door chimes and the two idiots who nearly crashed in the parking lot barge each other through the door, making it rock on its hinges.

“Careful,” Emma snaps, while Jesse steps back and pretends to be invisible.

“Jesse,” says the first journalist, like she knows him or something. “Jesse, have you heard from Andrew lately?”

The other one tries to step in front of her, nearly hiding her behind his bushy black curls. “Yeah, Jesse, any chance he’ll be back soon?” He leans back casually, elbow nudging the travel book display and Bill Bryson’s _Notes from a Small Island_ thuds to the floor.

It’s not an old book or a valuable one, but it’s still a book and Jesse has had enough.

“No,” he snaps, stepping forward and glaring with all the force of these pent up emotions that he’s been pretending to himself not to have. “I don’t know where Andrew is and I don’t think he’s ever coming back, okay? So get the _fuck_ out of my store.”

They blink at him and the woman opens her mouth with a follow-up question. Emma takes one look at Jesse’s face and clatters down the stairs, dropping one hand to each of their shoulders.

“Yeah, you should really go,” she says, pushing them backwards and through the door, “He’s about to hulk out and you really don’t want to see him when he’s literary.”

As soon as they’re gone, she turns back to Jesse with her hands on her hips, looking half impressed and half sympathetic.

“You really haven’t heard from him, huh?” she asks.

Jesse really, really can’t talk about this. It’s stupid to be this hurt, he knows that, Andrew has his own life and they hardly knew each other, not really.

He still really wants to yell at someone though.

Instead, he joins her at the bottom of the stairs and stoops to pick up the fallen book. “We should look into restocking the travel section,” is what he says. “Spring’s coming.”

***

_Spring_

Spring comes in early that year and the press finally gets bored with hanging around outside the store, getting ignored by Jesse and pelted with stale bagels by Joe.

Jesse’s phone rings early one morning when he’s staring up at the ceiling. It’s Anna and Jesse feels like he’s been sent back in time five years.

“Hey,” he says, abandoning his attempt to get the ceiling tiles to add up to an even number. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t.

“Morning, baby,” she says and doesn’t ask if she woke him because she’s Anna and she always knows when she hasn’t. “I’m going to be in the city this afternoon, mind if I swing by and see the store?”

“It’s your store,” Jesse says agreeably.

“Fifty percent,” she agrees, the way she always has. Sometimes, he wonders why she didn’t sell her half when she moved out, but he doesn’t want to ask, afraid of putting ideas in her head.

She arrives at the store just before lunch, looking tanned and happy like Florida agrees with her.

He doesn’t know how he looks, but she hugs him for longer than normal, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Show me around?” she asks, rather than asking what’s wrong.

Jesse manages a smile there because he loves showing people his store, even people who used to know every inch as well as he does. Anna links their arms together while he gives her the tour and Jesse doesn’t think about showing Andrew around in the middle of one drunken night.

“We had the mezzanine painted last fall,” he tells her, leading her up the steps. _And this is the place where I kissed him for the first time,_ he thinks.

“Abigail and Emma think we need to modernise the window display. What do you think?” _This window is where Andrew tucked his hands under my shirt because his fingers were cold._

“Look, I finally invested in a new cash desk. This one wants to eat my fingers, I swear.” _I was standing at this counter when Andrew let me force books on him because he wanted an excuse to see me again._

“It looks awesome, Jesse,” Anna says, stopping before he can take her to see the new YA section and Abigail’s favourite arm chair. “Do you stock audio books, yet, or are you still boycotting them?”

Jesse sniffs; it’s an old argument. “I’ve never boycotted audio books. They’re great for making books accessible for people who can’t or don’t read. It’s _DVDs_ that I am never, ever letting through this door.”

“And here I was thinking you’d found a new appreciation for actors,” Anna teases.

Jesse feels like he’s just gotten punched in the stomach. Of _course_ she’s heard, he thinks, but god, he stupidly wasn’t expecting her to mention it.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Anna says, squeezing the arm that she’s still holding onto. “That was stupid.” She turns to face him, cupping his face with her free hand. “I hate how sad you’re looking, Jess,” she tells him. “Anything I can do?”

Jesse shakes his head. “No,” he says too quickly. Then softens it with, “But you can buy me lunch, if you want.”

Anna does want, as he’d known she would. She’s never been able to resist trying to fix him, which is one of the main reasons why they didn’t last. He likes things better this way, if he’s honest; they’re better as friends.

They’re definitely not getting back together, Jesse thinks, swirling his wine around in his glass and watching her across the table. He’s relieved about that. It’s good to know that he can go from being blindingly in love with someone to comfortably just-friends. It means there’s hope that, at some point in the future, maybe he won’t miss Andrew quite so much.

***

_Summer_

It probably looks kind of weird that Jesse and Emma show up to Abigail’s graduation but she grins happily at them and waves from the podium, running out to meet them when it’s over with her gown trailing behind her and her cap clutched in one hand.

“Who’s running the _store_?” she asks breathlessly and Emma laughs, hugging her.

“Dude, don’t worry about the store, it’s graduation, you should be worrying about how shitfaced you’re going to get tonight.”

“ _Emma_ ,” Jesse says, appalled. He leans in, getting a hug of his own. “Don’t listen to her, I can’t have my employees coming to work hungover.”

Abigail stills, pulling back and staring at him. “Wait,” she says, “Your _employee_? You’re giving me a _job_?”

Jesse shrugs. “Well, you’re there all the time anyway...” He trails off because she’s hugging him again, long pieces of her hair flying into his mouth and Emma’s coming up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and somehow he’s in the middle of this hugging sandwich even though he’s sure that this is supposed to be _Abigail_ ’s big day.

“Yeah, Jesse, we love you too,” Abigail says in his ear. “And hey, are you going to pay me this time?”

It’s hard to talk with his mouth still smushed into her hair and with Emma still crushing the air out of his lungs, but he manages, “Proximity to the written word should be payment enough.”

Emma snorts. “Yeah, that and ten dollars an hour.” She pinches Jesse before he can object (not that he’s going to object. His accountant might but if Jesse hasn’t driven him into an early grave yet, this probably won’t do it). “Now, come on, Eisenberg, we better get back. I left Justin in charge of the store.”

Jesse squawks and detaches himself from Abigail. “You said you asked Kristen,” he says, betrayed.

“Yeah, I did,” Emma agrees easily while Abigail laughs at them. She links her hand with Jesse’s, waving over Abigail’s shoulder at people who look like Abigail’s (very confused) parents. “She just said no.”

***

Jesse doesn’t usually take the bus, since he lives above his work, doesn’t go out much and owns a car, but in August, his car breaks down and his little sister freaks out about going away to college. Which leads to him standing at Port Authority, en route to New Jersey and blinking at a bigger-than-lifesize billboard of Andrew’s face.

“Huh,” he says, staring at it. Apparently Andrew is in a movie which is playing in theatres right now. That’s... Well, that’s something that Jesse really didn’t need to know, to be honest.

The title pings something in Jesse’s memory and he remembers Andrew asking if he’d read _Never Let Me Go_ , telling him to check it out.

So that’s why, Jesse thinks, and wonders why Andrew didn’t just tell him. Then he remembers how he vehement he was that movie adaptations suck and thinks he probably has his answer.

Shit. No wonder Andrew’s forgotten all about him.

Jesse has twenty minutes until his bus - he always worries that they’re going to come early and he never wants to be that kid who runs ten blocks only to have the driver close the door in his face (again) - so he figures he can risk five minutes.

There’s a bookstore nearby, so he ducks inside, taking a couple of seconds like he always does to size it up against Dust Jacket - favourable, he decides, but Dust Jacket still has better displays and more light.

Andrew’s face is right there on the front cover of the book too, looking heartbroken with his forehead pressed against a pretty blonde girl’s. Jesse isn’t sure he can read a book that makes Andrew’s face look like that, but he’s a masochist so he pays for it and nearly gets run down making his way back to the bus shelter while trying to read page one.

***

Hallie looks better than Jesse’s expecting when he finally gets home. In fact, she probably looks less like a crazy person than he does, since she’s the one who pulls him into a hug.

Still, he has some big brother skills in his arsenal. “How are you doing?” he asks, pulling out a brown paper bag filled with books from Dust Jacket, holding it just out of her reach. “Mom said you had a panic attack?”

Hallie rolls her eyes dramatically and jumps up to snatch the bag. “Oh my _god_ , no, I _didn’t_.” She clutches the books to her chest. “Is that why you’re here? Mom told me that some boy broke your heart.”

He looks at her: she’s all fierce and protective but he can see the dancing anxiety in her eyes and hates that she had to inherit that too. “Some boy definitely broke my heart,” he says, sighing sadly to distract her and lets her drag him into the kitchen for ice cream.

They spend the afternoon hanging out, but Jesse doesn’t think he’s actually helping. Hallie’s voice gets tighter and higher every time he mentions that the world might still exist past the end of August and finally he decides that drastic action has to be taken.

“Come on,” he says, standing up, his brain screaming _bad idea, bad idea_ at him. “We’re going to go see a movie.”

Hallie gapes at him, grabbing her purse before he can change his mind. “The last movie you took me to was _Mulan_ when I was six.”

“Yeah, well,” Jesse says brusquely, “Think of it as a dodecennial family event. I’ll take you again when you’re thirty.”

“You just made that word up,” Hallie says suspiciously, following him out the house. “What are we going to see.”

“Whatever’s playing,” Jesse tells her casually, but he doesn’t think she’s fooled when they get to the theatre and he nearly jumps out of his skin at another poster of Andrew’s face. It’s like they’re making them bigger, just to get Jesse’s pulse racing.

He’d thank the movie industry for its commitment to ensuring his cardiovascular health, but he’s too busy stuffing suddenly shaking hands into his pockets so Hallie won’t notice.

“That one, then?” she asks. She’s just as bad at faux-casual as he is, which is why she’s his favourite sister.

“Sure,” Jesse says and hands her some bills so she can go buy the tickets.

***

Jesse spends the movie with his eyes glued on Andrew’s face. It seems to be true-ish to the half of the book he’s read so far, but he can’t be sure he’s being objective since the only thing he can really think is that holy _shit_ , Andrew’s talented.

Half way through, Hallie’s hand slides into his and Jesse doesn’t know if it’s because she’s affected by the movie or if she can tell that he is. Either way, he doesn’t let her have her hand back until the end.

“Huh,” Hallie says as they file out of the theatre.

“Yeah,” Jesse agrees. Movies are weird; he’s left with all these thoughts but he can’t go back to those passages and reread them until he gets his feelings sorted out, the way he would with a book.

Hallie swings their joined hands. “Did you really have sex with him?”

Jesse stumbles. “What? Hallie, for god’s sake.”

“What?” She shrugs, unrepentant. “I’m going to college in the fall, Jesse, I know what sex is.”

“Those things are in no way connected,” Jesse says (lies) primly, carefully not making a big deal about the fact that she’s mentioned college. “You’re going to college to learn and if any boys - or girls - hit on you, you should make sure to mention that. Repeatedly. Preferably from the safety of the library.”

Hallie laughs, pressing her face to the top of Jesse’s arm. “So, Andrew Garfield,” she says. “He’s _dreamy_.”

Jesse gives her a little shove, grabbing her back quickly just in case she trips into traffic and dies or something. That would be bad. “Shut up.”

***

_Fall_

Jesse opens the front door one bright September morning and bites back a yell when Justin tumbles in, nearly crushing Jesse against the wall.

“Holy fuck, Justin,” Jesse snaps, “Why are you lying in wait to kill me? What did I _do_?”

Justin looks just as confused. “I was taking a minute before I knocked,” he says, “Why are you trying to kill _me_?”

It’s too early for... Well, really it’s too early for Justin and Jesse hasn’t had any coffee. He prods Justin back out of door and locks it behind them both. “Why are you here?” he asks, heading over to Joe’s rather than straight into Dust Jacket.

“Oh, oh, _dude_.” Justin stops still and waves his hands in excitement. Unfortunately, he does it in the middle of the road in rush hour traffic so Jesse has to grab one flailing sleeve and pull him over to the sidewalk before Justin’s excitement turns into Justin’s extinction.

“Dude,” Jesse says flatly.

“ _Dude_ ,” Justin agrees and Jesse sighs. It’s like a whole other language. “Dude, I asked Britney to marry me.”

Now it’s Jesse’s turn to freeze. “Fuck,” he says, “What?”

Justin beams at him. “Isn’t it the most awesome thing you’ve ever heard?” he asks. “I’m going to be Mr Justin Spears or what-the-fuck-ever.”

“Wait.” Jesse shakes Justin’s arm. “She said yes?”

Justin’s expression turns blissful. “She said yes,” he confirms and he just, he looks so _happy_ , Jesse can’t do anything but congratulate him.

***

By October, Hallie’s at CalTech, Abigail’s at NYU, Kristen and Armie have almost-but-not-officially moved in together and Justin and Britney can’t talk about anything but weddings. Emma and Joe are still doing their hook-up-and-pretend-not-to-be thing, but that’s the only thing that’s stayed the same.

All of Jesse’s friends are moving on with their lives and he feels kind of stuck. He does love his life, mostly, just, he feels like it could maybe be a bit fuller.

A week later and after three talks with his therapists and one with his mom, Jesse decides that if there’s something missing from his life, it’s not a cute, flaky British actor, it’s cats.

(This isn’t entirely the advice that his therapists _or_ his mom gave, but it’s how he’s choosing to interpret it. He definitely doesn’t need to try to get in touch with Andrew; closure’s for people who don’t have cats.)

It takes him approximately ten minutes at the shelter to go from, “Hi, I’m looking for one cat. Just one,” to, “Wait, these come as a pair? Sure, I guess I’ve got room for both. Oh and is that one there their mom? She better come too, then.”

Three cats later, Jesse’s apartment feels much more like home. He gives them a corner of the living room and a corner of the kitchen and it’s good to feel boxed in by someone else again, even if it’s three someone elses and they only love him for his opposable thumbs.

The littlest kitten is a scrawny tabby who he calls Tommy for no particular reason and definitely not because of the character Andrew plays in _Never Let Me Go_. The other two get more Jesse-traditional names: the mom, who’s barely older than a kitten herself, becomes Dulcinea and the other kitten with the pot-belly is Sancho.

“There,” Jesse says, after he’s told them their names and Dulcinea has nosed at his hand in what was probably agreement. “Now, what are you going to call me?”

Sancho meows at him and Tommy falls over trying to stick his head in his empty food bowl.

“You’re right,” Jesse agrees, standing up, “I’m the large human with the unlimited food supply; I don’t need a name, I only exist to serve you.”

Dulcinea purrs and rubs herself around Jesse’s ankles, which Jesse takes to mean that everyone’s satisfied with their roles in his new household. He thinks he probably is, too.

***

_Winter_

“Okay,” Emma says, clapping together her mitten-covered hands and sending up little puffs of snow. “I have a plan.”

“No,” Jesse says preemptively. “It’s nearly the holidays. We have to decorate the store; I don’t have time for your plans.”

Emma sighs and hands him a paper cup. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte,” she says when he sniffs it suspiciously. “And my plan is nothing that’s going to take up your daylight hours. It might take up your _nights_ though,” she adds with a little leer and, oh, he can see where this is going.

“Please don’t tell me you have a friend who - ”

“I have a friend who’s a lovely guy,” Emma interrupts, “and I think the two of you would get along great.”

“I don’t need a boyfriend, Emma,” Jesse tells her pleadingly. “I have cats now, I’m fine.”

Emma folds her arms, looking fierce and little bit pink-nosed from the cold. “You’re twenty-seven, I refuse to let you give up on love.”

Jesse sighs. “I haven’t given up. I’ve given it a go _twice_. Love hates me and wants me to be alone, Em, and who are we to argue with love?”

“Eh,” Emma says dismissively, “You know me, I’ll argue with anyone.” She leans her arms on the counter. “So, his name’s Aziz and you’re having dinner with him tomorrow night.” She holds up a hand before he can argue. “Abigail has already offered to cat sit. And she’s bringing her boyfriend so make sure you stay out late, they’ll probably want to make out in your bed.”

***

Jesse learns two things about Emma’s friend Aziz straight away. One, is that he has very strong opinions on how much food is acceptable to order on a first date (answer: as much as possible) and he’s got gas.

“Right here,” Aziz says, thumping himself in the chest. “There’s this little bubble right _here_.” He grins at Jesse. “And my dad’s a gastroenterologist and says that digestion is always acceptable dinner conversation. That’s right, yeah?”

“Sure,” Jesse agrees, nodding. “My mom’s a clown, so sometimes she likes to smack our dinner right into our faces.”

Aziz laughs, waving a breadstick at Jesse. “Tell me you really do own a bookstore? I couldn’t tell if Emma was shitting me.”

“No, I really do.” Jesse frowns, wondering if it’s that unbelievable. “What do you do?”

Aziz points more emphatically with his breadstick. “Stand-up comedy, man. Pretty much the antithesis of the written word but I still bet you’d love it. Want to come along to an open-mic thing with me tonight?”

For the first time this year almost, Jesse isn’t completely desperate to get home to his cats so he nods. “Sure, why not?”

At the open-mic, Jesse learns a third thing about Aziz: he’s fucking hilarious. Jesse laughs until he cries and he has to stop drinking his beer, worried that if he tries, he’ll choke to death.

Afterward, Aziz grins smugly at him and throws an arm around his shoulder. “So, comedy is fucking hot, right?” he asks.

Jesse shrugs. “Not as hot as books but, yeah, sure.”

Aziz nods like that’s fair and insists on walking Jesse home even though Jesse’s sure he lives somewhere near here, which Jesse really does not.

“What’re we gonna tell Emma?” Aziz asks. “Did I turn out to be a serial killer or are you a crazy cat lady?”

“I _am_ a crazy cat lady,” Jesse feels the need to point out but Aziz just laughs, like he thinks Jesse’s funny. “Wait, why are we telling Emma anything like that?”

They’ve reached Jesse’s subway station and he is seriously not letting Aziz walk him any further out of his way. “Well, I mean.” Aziz hesitates, losing confidence for the first time tonight. His eyebrows pull together. “I was just thinking that - . I mean, you _don’t_ want to kiss me or anything, do you?” Aziz asks cautiously.

Jesse thinks about it. “No,” he decides. He’d like to spend a lot more time with Aziz - assuming Aziz is okay with that - but he feels no need to introduce tongue into the situation.

Aziz looks relieved but Jesse doesn’t feel insulted; he agrees that their connection is definitely not sexual. “Cool. Besides, you’re totally still in love with your actor-dude, right?”

Jesse has given up asking how everyone knows about that. “I, um. Yes.”

Aziz gives him a bright, lopsided smile. “Hey, man, we’ve all been there. One minute you’re living your life, the next, some world famous movie star is sweeping you off your feet and you’re spoiled for anyone else ever again.”

“You’ve been there too, huh?” Jesse asks.

Aziz sighs dramatically. “Oh _man_ , remind me to tell you about me and Mila Kunis some day.”

“Sure.” Jesse nods. “As long as you never let me tell you about Andrew.”

“Deal.” Aziz grins wide. “Wanna be friends?”

***

When Jesse gets home, there’s a text from Emma on his cell, which he deliberately left in the apartment so she couldn’t hassle through dinner.

_From: Emma  
Nov 25 7:17  
Soooo? Hot or what?_

Jesse leans against the counter, pouring cat food with one hand and trying to text with the other while Tommy mews piteously from the floor for Jesse to pick him up.

“Your dinner’s down there,” Jesse tells him, trying to nudge him toward the bowls. “Your mommy and your brother are going to eat it all if you’re not quick.”

Tommy mews again so Jesse sprinkles a couple pellets of dry kibble on the top of his head. Tommy spins around in a circle, trying to eat them as they fall off his ears but he gets the message and follows the trail Jesse leaves for him from his feet to his bowl.

Jesse doesn’t have the sharpest kitten in the class, but he’s okay with that.

Eventually, he remembers to reply to Emma.

_To: Emma  
Nov 25 11:09  
So hot that I’ve decided to replace you as my best friend. Sorry._

The speed with which she texts him back shows that she’s far too invested in his love life.

_From: Emma  
Nov 25 11:11  
Hahahaha. Just try, Eisenberg._

“Your Aunt Emma means well,” Jesse tells Dulcinea who’s the first to finish eating. She jumps up at his knees so he sits down in the kitchen floor, prepared to be a cat obstacle course for a half hour or so.

It’s not a bad way to spend the end of his evening.

***

Things start to settle down at the end of the year and Jesse manages to spend hours at a time thinking of things that aren’t Andrew.

Then it’s the New Year and Andrew comes back to New York.

Not owning a TV himself, Jesse would probably have missed it, except he has horribly well-meaning friends who don’t subscribe to Jesse’s belief that sometimes denial is the healthiest option.

“I’m sorry, they made me,” Aziz says, handing Jesse a cup of coffee and the remote control for the TV in the corner of his apartment.

Emma and Kristen who marched him over here both pat him on the shoulder in an eerily synchronised move and join Aziz in the kitchen.

“Yes, it’s a TV,” Jesse calls, “I have seen one before. Or did you expect me to start poking the shiny black box to see if I could free the little people trapped inside?”

“Just press play, asshole,” Emma tells him. “Oh, and remember we love you.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Jesse mutters to himself, pressing play with quite a lot of trepidation. It’s some kind of entertainment show, Jesse thinks, since the recording starts playing right at the end of a segment about some vaguely familiar girl called Carey Mulligan having just married some boy called Marcus Mumford.

Jesse is pleased for them, he supposes, but he’s not sure why his friends feel he needs to know.

“Just keep watching,” Emma calls before Jesse can actually ask.

“And now,” says the host from behind huge, artificially whitened teeth, “to another British cutey. Actor Andrew Garfield, who was famously dropped from the Spider-man franchise after coming out during post-production for the second movie - ” Jesse grips the arms of his chair, feeling dizzy. He hadn’t known that. “Is back in New York, filming an adaptation of Betty Smith’s novel _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_. We caught up with him during a break on set.”

The show cuts to a clip of Andrew and Jesse closes his eyes for a minute. _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ was one of the books Jesse made Andrew buy and now he’s not only working on the movie version, he’s come back to New York to do it. Jesse has no idea what that means.

“It’s very true to the novel,” Andrew’s voice says earnestly and Jesse forces his eyes open again.

Andrew looks good - his hair is longer and scruffier and his eyes are bright. He’s right there and Jesse has to sit on his hands so he won’t do something supremely stupid like reach out to touch the screen.

Andrew-on-the-TV keeps talking, “I think it’s very important that adaptations respect the novels they come from, because a lot of people love those stories, you know?”

Jesse almost breaks his thumb jabbing the mute button but he still wants to hit his head repeatedly against something hard.

“Oh god, shut _up_ ,” he groans at Andrew who can’t hear him. “Why do you exist?”

Emma’s laugh floats out to him, which Jesse thinks is pretty rude considering he’s having an actual crisis here. Then Aziz is there, squeezing Jesse’s shoulder from over the top of the couch.

“I know I wasn’t here for act one, dude, but I really think you need to go see him,” he says, resting his head on top of Jesse’s, which would be nice except for how his chin is trying to drill through Jesse’s skull.

That pulls Jesse out of his melodramatic panic into a real one. “I can’t,” he says straightening up. He sounds serious to himself and must sound serious to Aziz and to Emma because she joins them but doesn’t bully him into it the way she normally would.

“Jesse,” she says instead, putting her hand on his arm. “You’re going to regret it if you don’t.”

“I think I’ll regret it more when I show up there and he looks at me like he can’t figure out why I’m there,” Jesse tells her. “I’m sure he didn’t land in New York by accident; he’s already chosen not to get in touch with me.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” Aziz asks. He holds up her hands quickly. “That’s a genuine question. Me, I’d want to know why. Then maybe I’d smack him around a little, just to get my point across.”

“I’m not going to smack Andrew. And neither are you,” he adds to them both, just in case they’re getting any ideas.

Emma rolls her eyes. “As if I’m going to smack Andrew,” she huffs, “I mean, he deserves it, probably, but it’d still be like punching Bambi or something.” She leans over and thwaps Jesse’s arm.

“Ow,” he protests, rubbing his arm.

“You, I will smack,” Emma tells him. “You should seriously go and see him. Tell him about your cats, tell him about Aziz. You need to let him know that you’re not pining for him.”

“I’m not dating Aziz,” Jesse points out, with an apologetic look at Aziz who shrugs.

Emma makes a face. “You also _are_ pining for Andrew.” Her eyes light up. “Oh and you could tell him - ”

“No, Emma,” Jesse says firmly, putting his foot down and standing up. “Now, come on, we’ve got to get back to work.”

“But,” she tries.

Jesse gives her his best _I’m the boss_ look. He knows it’s not a very effective look so the only reason she lets the subject drop is because she wants to. Which should probably worry him a lot, but he’s too busy being relieved to dwell too much or what she might or might or not be plotting.

***

Friday evening, Emma hustles Jesse out of the store at five, telling him to take the night off, spend some quality time with the cats, maybe take a bath. Jesse is instantly suspicious but he’s also incredibly tempted by the idea of curling up with his cats for the evening so he doesn’t fight too hard.

He’s just out of the shower, towel-drying his hair and wriggling when his t-shirt and boxers cling to his still-damp skin, when the doorbell rings.

“Emma,” he mutters, making his way down the stairs and scooping Sancho up when he tries to answer the door for Jesse, “if you want me to rest, don’t come knocking. Oh.”

It’s not Emma at the door.

Of course it’s not Emma at the door, Jesse thinks, holding a hand up to Andrew so he won’t speak until Jesse’s taken a moment to bang his head against the doorframe.

“Um,” Andrew says awkwardly. “I knew you might not be delighted to see me, but I didn’t know I was going to make you want to kill yourself.”

“No,” Jesse tells the doorframe. “I’m just punishing myself for falling for Emma’s tricks.” He straightens up. “That’s over now. Hello.”

The corners of Andrew’s mouth twitch. “Hello,” he agrees. “I, um. You have a cat.”

“I do.” Sancho is trying to eat Jesse’s hair. He does that. “I have three.”

Andrew clears his throat. “That, um. That’s new.”

“Yes.” Jesse nods. He should invite Andrew in, he thinks. Except he’s wearing a t-shirt, boxers and a cat and he doesn’t want to invite Andrew in. He’s kind of incredibly pissed at Andrew, it turns out.

Andrew scratches the back of his neck. “Can I come in, please? I know, I know I don’t deserve to but it’s really cold out here and you’re not wearing much so if you’re going to yell at me, you should probably get to do it in the warm.”

Jesse steps back, sighing at himself. He was always going to let Andrew in, wasn’t he?

Sancho wriggles in Jesse’s arms when they get to the top of the stairs but Jesse doesn’t put him down; he could use a warm, fluffy shield right now.

Dulcinea and Tommy come scrabbling out to greet their guest the way they always do and Andrew drops down immediately, petting them both in equal amounts. “They’re lovely,” he says, looking up at Jesse. “When did you get them?”

“October,” Jesse tells him, finally relenting and letting Sancho down to fawn over Andrew too. All Jesse’s cats are traitors.

Andrew’s bright eyes turn sad. He stands up, making Jesse step back because he can’t cope with being too close to Andrew’s warmth right now.

Andrew looks fantastic, in tight jeans like always and a thick, dark sweatshirt. His hair is mussed and his cheeks and lips are red from the cold. Jesse is pissed and hurt, sure, but he still wants to touch him really badly.

If anything, Andrew looks sadder still when he sees Jesse widen the space between them. “If it helps, it wasn’t Emma who told me to come and see you.”

“No?” Jesse asks cautiously. “That’s a problem because I’d already come up with a foolproof plan for how to dispose of the body.”

Andrew does that thing where he almost smiles again. It’s not a fair thing to do, because Andrew _almost_ smiling makes Jesse wish he were _actually_ smiling, which makes it much harder to remember that he’s mad at him. “It was your sister,” he says, “but I don’t think you should kill her, she was adorable.”

“My sister’s in California,” Jesse says automatically, except that’s not true, Hallie’s still in New Jersey on her winter vacation. At least, she should be.

“Not this morning,” Andrew says with a shrug. “She told me that you took her to see _Never Let Me Go_? And apparently that’s a sign that you’re still, um. That you still.”

“It’s a sign that I liked the book,” Jesse says desperately. He’s definitely going to have to give consideration to murdering Hallie. And Emma; she was clearly in on it too.

“I know I should have got back in touch with you months ago,” Andrew says suddenly, like he’s been bursting to say it. He looks at the floor. “I wanted to, you have no idea.”

“You could have,” says Jesse. “You know where my store is; I haven’t moved.”

Andrew looks up then and he looks so sad that Jesse half wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter. It does matter though, kind of a lot.

“I know,” he says softly. “But, but everything was such a mess at home. My mum cried for a solid week and my grandfather doesn’t know how to talk to me anymore. It was all... It was horrible and then I had to deal with the press and my publicist threatened to quit and - .” He breaks off.

“Go on,” Jesse prompts.

Andrew shakes his head. “And those are all terrible excuses; you don’t have to tell me, I already know. The truth is that I left in such a shitty way that I was sure you hated me and I couldn’t stand the idea of you telling me that. And, and I know you got arseholes hassling you at your shop. I just, I thought you’d be better off without me.”

“No,” Jesse says. He frowns. “Did it occur to you that that was maybe my decision to make?”

Andrew nods slowly, biting his lip. “My friend Karen pointed that out about six months ago, but I thought I’d left it too late by then.” He looks up at Jesse under his eyelashes, looking tentatively hopeful. “Was it too late?”

“Six months ago? No,” Jesse says, knowing he’s being cruel but not really minding until Andrew’s face falls.

“Right. All right.” Andrew slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. “If it helps, I’m really sorry.”

It doesn’t help. It doesn’t help. It... Oh fuck it, who’s Jesse kidding. “I was just being an asshole,” he says quickly, when it looks like Andrew might actually leave. “You asked in past tense so I answered in past tense. It’s a thing I do, a grammar thing, it was ridiculously inappropriate just then but... What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Andrew isn’t so much looking at him as staring at him, eyes dark and bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

“I missed you so much,” Andrew tells him quietly.

“Don’t,” Jesse says but drops his arms from their defensive fold across his chest. He’s trying not to build this up into something it can’t be, he really is, but Andrew’s moving closer and Jesse _wants_ to kiss him so badly that he curls his hands in the front of Andrew’s shirt as soon as he’s close enough. He has to pull him in, because Andrew’s just not moving quick enough on his own.

At first, the kisses are hard, fast and clumsy, while they grab at each other and forget how to let go. Then Andrew’s hands unclench from the back of Jesse’s sweatshirt and he starts to stroke Jesse’s upper arms, drawing him closer into a kiss that’s more of a hug until he drops his head onto Jesse’s shoulder and mouths carefully at Jesse’s throat.

Jesse shivers again and again, touching the back of Andrew’s neck where it’s cold from the icy winter weather, encouraging him to keep going.

“I missed you,” Andrew says again, licking the words into Jesse’s skin. “Fuck, Jesse, I missed you so much.” He fumbles with the hem of Jesse’s sweatshirt, hands cold on Jesse’s stomach and when they slide up his torso, spreading across his chest until he can brush his fingertips over Jesse’s nipples. “I missed your nipples.”

Jesse laughs, except it comes out shakily because Andrew is touching him and he never thought that would happen again. “No one misses nipples,” he manages to say.

Andrew shakes his head, hair brushing the side of Jesse’s face. “I did. Your nipples are the best nipples.”

Jesse kisses him again because he can’t help himself. Andrew’s here and he smells amazing and he _feels_ amazing.

“You’re ridiculous,” Jesse finally remembers to say, because he might very much enjoy kissing Andrew, but he stills thinks it’s only fair to tell Andrew the truth.

“Yes,” Andrew agrees happily before sinking down to his knees and carefully opening Jesse’s pants.

“Shit,” Jesse says, thumping his head back against the wall then stopping that immediately because he wants to _see_.

Andrew spends forever on Jesse’s cock, licking and kissing and sucking until Jesse’s knees are weak. They get weaker still when Andrew pushes his mouth all the way down, throat constricting around the head, breath dragging raggedly through his nose.

“Oh god, oh god,” Jesse mumbles, cupping the back of Andrew’s head, fingers tangled in his hair. _I love you_ , he thinks, but you can’t tell someone that you love them when they’re deep throating you; it lacks sincerity. “Can you breathe?” he asks instead.

Andrew makes a sound, which Jesse thinks means he’s choking until he realises that Andrew’s laughing. Which then _makes_ him choke, pulling back and breathing hard against Jesse’s cock.

“Date me?” Andrew asks, looking up at Jesse with dark, glassy eyes. “I’m out now, so. Date me? Please?”

“I don’t know.” It’s really hard to be rational when Andrew is asking him questions in the middle of a blowjob. “You disappeared.”

“I’m a bastard,” Andrew nods. “And an idiot. And I won’t ever do that again.” He kisses Jesse’s thigh, the base of his cock, his balls. “Jesse, I don’t think I _can_ be away from you again, it felt like there was some like, some part of my soul missing.”

Jesse wants to tell him not to be so melodramatic but he doesn’t, he just slides down the wall and kisses him instead. “What would dating you involve?” he asks.

Andrew crawls forward and straddles Jesse’s lap, pulling him in to kiss again, hands firm and warm around his skull.

“Lots of boring industry parties and having your picture in the paper,” he says apologetically, which sounds _awful_ , shit. “But, but seriously, I’m a really good boyfriend. I make breakfast in bed and I give massages and I... Jesse, I...”

“Yes,” Jesse interrupts, because he doesn’t need Andrew to make any grand declarations, not when he doesn’t completely trust that Andrew isn’t going to disappear again. The idea of Andrew telling him he loves him and then leaving him, well, that might be unbearable.

“Yes, what?” Andrew asks. The way he starts to smile tells Jesse that he already knows.

“Yes, I’ll date you,” Jesse says even though it’s stupid and reckless and likely to end in a broken heart all over again. He grabs Andrew’s hand. “Now, come on, we have to do this in the bedroom or the cats are going to think you’re a new climbing wall.”

“I’d be happy to let your cats climb me,” Andrew declares grandly.

Jesse rolls his eyes and pulls him to his feet. “Well, I’d be happier with the rest of that blowjob, so.”

“Oh,” Andrew agrees, eyes dropping to Jesse’s groin. “Oh, yes, me too.” He turns around, tugging Jesse along. “You didn’t move your bedroom too, did you?”

“No,” Jesse says, following him. “But I’ve thrown away the bed and made it into a cat motel like one of those cube hotels in Japan.”

Andrew turns back to him, kissing him hard. “I’d be okay with that,” he says, “I’m okay with everything right now.”

Jesse pulls him down into one more kiss then pushes him backwards toward the bedroom, not trying too hard to resist when Andrew clings to his shoulders and licks at his mouth the whole way there.

***

“I’m not sure I’ve conveyed exactly how sorry I am for being a cowardly, unforgivable flake,” Andrew says seriously over breakfast the next morning.

Jesse thinks that the number of times that Andrew whispered _sorry_ and _I missed you_ into his skin last night probably makes up for a lot. But there’s still this small, hurt part of him that feels permanently dented so he just says, “No?”

Andrew stops fiddling with his coffee cup and says, “You agree? Oh god.” He leans over the space between their stools and presses their shoulders together. “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

“How will that help?” Jesse asks. “Surely the way to make up for disappearing is to, I don’t know, handcuff yourself to me or something?” Andrew’s breath hitches a little at that and Jesse files that away to be explored later. “But dinner sounds nice. Do we have to leave the apartment?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Andrew says uncertainly. “But I really can’t cook anything that doesn’t feature chips as the main ingredient and takeaway doesn’t exactly have the romantic, apology factor I was going for.”

Half of Jesse is incredibly nervous of the idea of going outside with Andrew, having the world know that they’re on an actual date, but the other half doesn’t like that look of disappointment on Andrew’s face.

“Sure,” Jesse says, “Just not one of those pretentious places with the tiny portions, okay?”

Andrew grins, looking pleased which helps to convince Jesse that he’s made the right decision. “No pretentious portions, got it. I’ll go and have a chat with our dinner and if it puts on a French accent, we won’t go there.”

“Idiot,” Jesse says, laughing. “And that’s not what I said.”

Andrew leans closer, kissing the top of his ear, which is dumb but still makes Jesse shiver. “I know,” he says, “but I made you laugh, so.”

“My laugh sounds like a hyena having painful sex,” Jesse tells him, turning toward him in the hope of getting Andrew to stop kissing random facial features and also to stop trying to make him laugh again.

Both parts of the plan go pretty well when he finds Andrew’s mouth instead and kisses him slowly and with intent.

***

In the end, Andrew takes Jesse to Penelope’s on Lexington, which just so happens to be one of Jesse’s favourite restaurants.

Jesse suspects his friends - for all that Andrew is surprisingly committed to finding out everything there is to know about Jesse, there’s no way that he’s actually psychic. Hopefully.

“Is this okay?” Andrew asks, pulling out Jesse’s chair for him.

They’re here for dinner so the lights are dim and there are candles on every table. It’s a tiny place, cosy, with all of five inches of space between Jesse’s elbow and the elbow of the lady sitting at the table next to theirs.

“It’s great,” Jesse says, trying not to think that at least there won’t be room for any paparazzi to come in, even if they do find them. “I can pull my own chair out, though.”

“Sorry,” Andrew says, snatching his hand back from the top of the chair. “I wasn’t trying to... I know you _can_.”

“No, hey.” Jesse squeezes Andrew’s hand, but only quickly in case anyone’s watching. “I just meant, you’re spoiling me.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to do,” Andrew says, sounding honestly baffled.

Jesse waves it away, because he doesn’t want to explain how that wasn’t what he meant, he meant that Andrew’s _doting_ on him and people are going to notice that.

Their server turns out to be from England and she and Andrew spend ten minutes talking about places in Surrey that Jesse’s never heard of. They’re not quite flirting but Andrew’s doing that super interested and attentive thing that he does with everyone he talks to.

Jesse watches with his chin propped on his hand, trying not to marvel that this boy he’s somehow dating is really, really charming.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the server asks, turning to include Jesse in her smile. He wonders if she knows they’re on a date; something about her expression makes him think that she does.

“Um,” Jesse says, “Pepsi, please.” Andrew makes a soft, sad noise and Jesse frowns at him. “What? Were you hoping to get me drunk?” He bites his lip as soon as he’s said it because he didn’t mean to in front of the server. She just laughs.

“No,” Andrew says, “but I wanted to order one of their silly, fancy coloured drinks and now I’m going to look ridiculous.”

“You always look ridiculous,” Jesse tells him but changes his order anyway. “Fine, I’ll have a sangria.”

She nods and flicks her pad, turning around in the minute space between the tables to take the next order.

Andrew reaches across the table to slide the candle to the side and slide his fingers between Jesse’s. Jesse glances over at their neighbours and finds that the man next to Andrew is looking at their joined hands. Jesse is pretty sure that it’s more an older man’s aversion to seeing two guys hold hands rather than because he’s recognised Andrew. Stubbornly, Jesse keeps holding on.

“Well, now I feel guilty,” Andrew teases, clearly not noticing anything. “I don’t want to drive you to drink.”

“If I didn’t start drinking from the shittiness of last year, I don’t think I’m going to now,” Jesse says without thinking about it and has to grab Andrew’s hand before he can pull it back. “Sorry, wait, I didn’t mean that.”

Andrew looks down at their hands, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Jesse’s knuckles. “My year was pretty shitty too,” he admits, “and I’m so - ”

“ _Don’t_ say you’re sorry again,” Jesse says firmly. He looks over Andrew’s shoulder. “Oh, look, here come our drinks.”

The server smiles at them and puts their drinks down near their free hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, leaning conspiratorially, “but the man in the corner is taking pictures of you on his mobile.”

Jesse jumps, instinctively looking over his shoulder. A guy in a waistcoat having dinner with a couple of friends catches his eye and looks away. Jesse doesn’t think he’s a reporter - at least, he doesn’t look much like the type of guy who plagued the store - so maybe they don’t need to panic yet.

“That’s okay,” Andrew says casually to the server. “It’s because Jesse’s so good looking, happens all the time.”

“Oh god,” Jesse mutters, while she laughs and walks away. Andrew is still smiling. “You really don’t care?”

“I...” Andrew hesitates. “I wish they wouldn’t, but I... I’ve decided not to care. Which is almost the same thing.”

Jesse looks at him and remembers that while he was moping around about being dumped without a word, Andrew was having his whole life turned upside down.

“Shit,” Jesse says, “I forgot to say. I heard about Spider-man. I’m real sorry.”

Andrew’s fingers spasm around Jesse’s. “It’s fine. The studio did what they thought was right for the...” he trails off, then pauses, laughs, “and I’m lying.”

“I know,” Jesse says. He can’t image how that must feel, to be told that you can’t do your job because of what you do in your personal life. If anyone told him that he wasn’t allowed to sell books just because he happens to be bi, he thinks he’d probably do things inappropriate for a bookstore owner. Like cut a bitch. “Do you want to talk about it? Or should I tell you about the 1896 edition of _Gulliver’s Travels_ that I picked up for $200?”

“That one,” Andrew says quickly, picking up his drink and looking at Jesse over the rim. “Tell me all about it.”

***

Dinner is great. Andrew insists on trying all of the most colourful drinks they serve, so it’s also kind of drunken but it’s a good, giggly kind of tipsy that ends with Andrew peaceably agreeing to let Jesse pay half and then tipping the server at least twice the price of the meal anyway.

“You’re impossible,” Jesse tells him when they stumble of onto the sidewalk.

“I thought I was ridiculous?” Andrew asks, wrapping his arm around Jesse’s shoulders.

“Tonight, you’re both,” Jesse decides after maybe a bit too much thought. It’s possible he’s kind of tipsy too.

Andrew reels him in, which Jesse should have predicted when he first put his arm around him.

“Andrew,” Jesse protests, but only half-heartedly.

“Shh, I’m kissing you,” Andrew says, doing so. He tastes of the mac and cheese he ate plus lots of sweet-sticky alcohol.

“Do you think we should worry that we spend a lot of our makeout time kind of drunk?” Jesse ponders, kissing the corner of Andrew’s mouth, catching his lips on the beginnings of Andrew’s stubble.

Andrew pulls back, frowning. “Should we?” he asks, starting to sound a bit worried.

Jesse laughs, shaking his head. “I was joking,” he promises. “I, I only drink when I’m already happy.” Which is as close as he can get to _you make me happy_.

Andrew beams at him. “Oh,” he breathes, pulling Jesse close, closer than Jesse should let him out here on the street if don’t want to get caught. But Andrew’s eyes are soft and his hands flatten possessively over the small of Jesse’s back so Jesse just leans in, kissing him to say _yes, yes I meant it_.

***

The next morning, Joe looks at him curiously when he stops off to buy his first coffee of the day. (By the time he gets to Joe’s, he’s usually looking for his second or third cup, but Andrew kept him in bed late so today he was orgasm rich and caffeine poor - which wasn’t a _bad_ deal, really.)

“What?” Jesse asks, fiddling with the sugar packets while he waits for his coffee to be ready. He starts to worry that maybe he has a hickey somewhere visible and tries to surreptitiously feel his neck to check.

“Well first, there’s a seriously impressive bruise on the _other_ side of your throat,” Joe tells him, smirking when Jesse’s hand flies to cover as much skin as possible. “And second, um.”

He pushes over today’s Post, which is folded to the middle pages. There, sandwiched between a picture of some starlet rollerblading and an advertisement for umbrellas, is a grainy photograph of Andrew. And Jesse.

Luckily, the photographer must have missed them actually kissing because this is from just after that. Andrew’s hand wrapped around Jesse’s wrist, tugging him into a taxi while Jesse laughs at him and tries not to fall over his own feet.

Jesse feels his face heat up with embarrassment. God, he looks ridiculous, all sappy and flushed and happy.

“Oh, shit,” Jesse groans, dropping the sugar packets across the counter and covering his burning face with his hands. “ _No_.”

“Yeah,” Joe hums sympathetically. “But like, um. I mean, he is out, right? This isn’t going to cause any kind of scandal like last time?”

“No,” Jesse agrees without lowering his hands. “But.” He doesn’t want to explain it. He just doesn’t want pictures of himself looking happy all over the newspapers. Things like that should just be his and Andrew’s.

The coffee machine hisses but Joe ignores it for the moment. That’s not a good sign. When Jesse peeks at him from between his fingers, Joe wrinkles his nose. “I guess now would be a bad time to point out that there’s also kind of an article to go with it?”

Jesse groans.

***

The article, such as it is, is pretty much just a collection of random made up bullshit with a couple of almost-truths thrown in.

The headline is the worst: **Spider-man Back With Old Squeeze?** it says, which doesn’t even make sense.

“That’s not even funny,” Jesse complains to Andrew later, “If you were Cobra-man, that _might_ be funny.”

Andrew reaches across the table and squeezes Jesse’s fingers. “You write in and tell them that,” he suggests then lifts a hand, quickly, when Jesse starts to consider it. “Or don’t. No, please don’t actually do that. We’d never get out of the headlines if you did that.”

Jesse deflates, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not actually going to,” he sighs. “But did you read the bit about how we kept up an intercontinental romance by sending each other erotic emails? I have never sent an erotic email. I get embarrassed when my spam filter offers to enlarge my penis.”

Andrew smiles slowly and leans in. Jesse just knows he’s going to say something awful and embarrassing about the size of Jesse’s dick so it’s kind of a relief when his cell phone rings.

It’s less of a relief when he checks the display and sees that it’s his mom, but whatever.

“Hi, Mom,” Jesse says, holding up a finger to stop Andrew coming any closer. Andrew ignores him, leaning in and kissing his ear, before sitting back and picking up the paper again.

“Oh, so you are alive,” his mom says. “I was wondering since you haven’t answered your phone all day.”

“I was working,” Jesse protests, which is true, but the reason he didn’t answer his phone was because he knew that she was going to -

“So, I saw your picture in the paper today.”

say that.

“Did you?” Jesse asks, wincing preemptively. He loves his mom a lot but she’s never really very comforting about his choices. “I hope they got my best side.”

She ignores him. “You didn’t tell me you were back with that Andrew boy. I thought he was still abroad.” She definitely sounds disapproving, which Jesse understands since she saw how much Andrew leaving fucked him up. He’s kind of never okay with people disapproving of Andrew though so he finds himself on the defensive.

“He was in England,” Jesse says as patiently as he can, “Where he _lives_.”

Andrew looks up at the mention of England, raising his eyebrows. Jesse shakes his head.

There’s a pause and then his mom sighs. It’s the sigh of a woman whose children are unnecessarily unreasonable and he just knows that she’s going to be complaining to Hallie Kate about him before the night is out.

“Fine,” she says. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing. When will be bringing him around for dinner, then?”

“Um, never?” Jesse says automatically. That gets him no reply at all, so he caves. Obviously. He likes being a good son but sometimes it’s a hardship. “Soon?”

“That’s right,” his mom agrees cheerfully. “Call me when you fix up a day and remember that I have bingo Friday nights and I’m visiting your aunt this weekend, so it’d better be tomorrow.”

“Mom,” Jesse complains.

“Love you,” she says and hangs up.

Jesse stares at his phone. He’s not entirely sure how much he was even part of that conversation.

“Everything okay?” Andrew asks, nudging their feet together. His bare toes against the arch of Jesse’s foot calm Jesse down for some reason.

“Mothers,” Jesse explains. He’s feels nervous so decides just to get it out there. “She wants you to come for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, looking pleased. “Really? That would be lovely.” But then his face falls and Jesse thinks _right, of course, you’ve remembered you don’t really want to meet my family_. “But I can’t do tomorrow night. I have that press thing, did I tell you? I meant to tell you.”

Jesse shakes his head. “You didn’t tell me,” he says, wondering if Andrew just made that up on the spot.

“It’s just some silly function,” Andrew says. “I have to go and mingle and promote myself and other horrible things like that but it’ll be boring and I’d much rather meet your family.”

He actually looks like he means it; sometimes Jesse doesn’t understand him at all. Who _wants_ to meet their um, their boyfriend-ish-type-person’s family?

“It’s fine,” Jesse tells him even though he knows this isn’t going to help at all with his mom’s opinion of Andrew. “We’ll do it some other time. I mean, she has everyone over to celebrate shit like her tomatoes coming into season so it’s not like there won’t be other opportunities. If you really do want to meet her.”

“I _do_ ,” Andrew assures him, getting up and coming to kneel by Jesse’s chair, presumably because Jesse doesn’t look convinced. “Jesse, trust me, I’m already planning the easiest way to get you and my parents in the same place at the same time.”

Jesse’s heart jumps at that, some kind of combination of terror and pleasure. “Really?” he asks, voice too high.

“Mm hmm,” Andrew promises, leaning up to kiss him. His hands are warm on Jesse’s thighs and Jesse’s just contemplating losing himself in that when Andrew pulls back.

“Will you apologise to your mum for me?” he asks, which is the last thing Jesse wants someone to say while kissing him. “Or, wait, should I talk to her? I don’t want her to think I’m just making excuses or something.”

“Oh my god, no,” Jesse says weakly. “No, you don’t ever get to speak to my mom.”

Andrew makes a confused face. “That’s going to make dinner difficult then,” he says then looks away. “Oh. I mean, um. Do you not _want_ me to meet your family? I thought you were just doing that thing where you worry about stuff, but if you really don’t, um.”

Now Jesse feels bad. He keeps forgetting that Andrew isn’t as self-confident as he wants people to think he is.

Sighing, Jesse picks up his cell and hands it to Andrew. “She’s speed dial one,” he says. “Don’t say anything too embarrassing.”

The smile he gets as Andrew takes the phone is - probably - worth it.

***

The next evening, Jesse is sitting on the bed in Andrew’s hotel room while Andrew tries to find something to wear to his function.

(Apparently it is a real function, not a made-up emergency excuse one.)

“Oh wait,” Andrew says, head in his closet. “Did you want to come?”

Jesse freezes. Panic spikes through him and he thinks he might throw up.

He opens his mouth to say no but the sound he actually manages is more like, “Bazrumph?”

“Pardon?” Andrew asks, turning away from the closet with a red shirt draped over one arm. “Jesse?”

“Nothing,” Jesse says quickly. “Is that what you’re wearing? That’ll look good.”

Andrew drops the shirt on the bed and puts his hands on Jesse’s shoulders. “What did I say wrong? I meant it; I’d like you to come. Should I have asked sooner?” he asks. “I meant to ask sooner, I just got nervous.”

“Yes,” Jesse says, trying to sound breezy. “It’s way too short notice, I don’t have a thing to wear.”

Andrew just waits, looking at him with those stupid, wide eyes of his. He looks hopeful. Ugh.

“That’s not fair,” Jesse complains. “You don’t really want me to go. I’m a disaster at social things, I’ll, um, I’ll accidentally say something ridiculous to someone important and - ”

Andrew leans in, hands tight on his wrists and kisses him. “But I like ridiculous,” he says, pouting.

Jesse closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of Andrew’s shower gel and the aftershave he just splashed on. His blood is pounding with nerves and he thinks he might pass out. “Okay,” he hears himself say, his brain yelling _no, no, no, don’t do it_ , at him. “I’ll come.”

Andrew kisses him again, bare back warm against the circle of Jesse’s arms, which rise to hold him automatically. “Yay,” he says quietly, a little puff of breath over Jesse’s mouth. When he pulls away, he’s smiling so hard that Jesse can’t regret this (stupid) decision.

***

Jesse has to go back to his apartment to get changed since he’s apparently just agreed to go a star-studded reception thingy and he probably can’t get away with wearing scruffy, too-big jeans.

He can’t really think about it too hard; if he tries, he loses control of his tongue and walks into things.

He spends ten minutes sitting on the floor of his shower, warm water pounding down onto his back, full-on freaking out then makes himself dry off and change into the nicest clothes he has.

They’re probably still not good enough, and he clings to a tiny hope that Andrew will take one look at him and refuse to be seen in public with someone wearing the same suit he wore to his college graduation.

Andrew doesn’t.

Andrew smiles very slowly and says, “I always suspected you’d look amazing in a suit,” and then leads him to the car. (They’re not even taking a taxi; Andrew or his studio or his agent or someone has hired an actual Aston Martin complete with driver.)

“It’s all horribly pretentious, isn’t it?” Andrew asks, with an embarrassed shrug. “I think it’s the English thing? My agent is convinced that I get more work because I’m English so she likes to remind people all the time.”

Jesse stares at the back of their driver’s head. He sort of wants to lean forward and apologise for something; he isn’t even sure what.

“Maybe she wants you to be the next James Bond?” he manages.

“Ooh,” Andrew says, perking up. “That would be amazing, wouldn’t it?” He reaches over and squeezes Jesse’s knee. “Would you be my Bond girl?”

The driver doesn’t so much as twitch but Jesse is still somehow sure that he’s laughing at them. He puts his hand on top of Andrew’s, holding it against his pant leg in case it gets any ideas about wandering.

“I’d look terrible in a leather cat suit,” Jesse says. Normally, he’d tell Andrew about the horribly sexist attitude to women in most of the James Bond novels but he honestly doesn’t trust himself to be coherent right now.

Andrew leans into him. “I’m really not sure about that,” he murmurs.

Jesse smacks him lightly. “Behave,” he says and he really, really means it. Maybe he can get through tonight, but not if Andrew is going to be all over him. Obviously, he’s happy that Andrew wants to touch him so much, but if he tries it in front of other people right now, Jesse thinks he might die.

“Okay,” Andrew says cheerfully, leaning in and kissing him quickly on the mouth. He sits back on his own side of the car before Jesse can think about either reciprocating or complaining and Jesse is left to panic in peace, nothing to distract him anymore.

***

If anything, the party is somehow worse than Jesse thought it was going to be. People take their picture and Andrew clings to Jesse’s wrist, refusing to let him run away until so many flashbulbs have gone off that Jesse can’t blink without seeing the night sky across his eyelids.

“This way,” Andrew says, leading him through a set of double swing doors into a huge reception room full of people in expensive suits and gorgeous dresses sipping champagne.

Jesse’s palms go clammy and his shirt collar feels too tight.

“Okay?” Andrew asks, smiling at him.

“Yes,” Jesse lies, somehow managing to smile back. He accepts the champagne that someone offers him and bites the lip of the glass wondering if he could engineer just a minor tongue laceration to get himself out of here.

“Ooh, look, there’s Ellen,” Andrew says happily and waves across the room at a tiny, brunette in a long red dress. “Thank goodness,” he whispers to Jesse while she makes her way over. “I wasn’t sure we were going to know anyone.”

Jesse doesn’t point out that _he_ doesn’t know this Ellen person either, because that would be rude. Andrew is clearly enjoying himself for all that he claimed he wouldn’t and Jesse is pleased, he _is_ , he’s just sure that Andrew would be having at least as much fun if he’d come on his own.

“Andrew Garfield, where have you been?” the Ellen person says, punching Andrew in the arm before hugging him hard.

Andrew has to lean down to hug her and his face breaks into a huge smile. “Cobble Hill, mostly,” he says, letting go of her and waving to indicate Jesse. “This is Jesse. Jesse, this is Ellen, she was my Gwen Stacey.”

“Your - ?” Jesse asks, frowning, wondering if that’s some sort of celebrity code. He wouldn’t have pegged Andrew for someone who used celebrity code but then Andrew seems to have slotted in here so easily that he thinks he’s going to have to reassess a lot of things.

“In Spider-man,” Ellen explains, rolling her eyes affectionately at Andrew. “Or I was. After the bullshit they pulled with Andrew, I’m not going back even if they double my salary.” She shakes her head and holds her hand out to Jesse. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

“You, um. You too.” Jesse says while Andrew says, “ _Ellen_ ,” like he wants to argue her out of standing up for him.

“Shh,” Jesse says at the same time that Ellen says, “Shut up.” She grins conspiratorially at Jesse while he ducks his head, flustered.

So that’s not too bad, but then Ellen gets stolen by some guy called Leo who Jesse also doesn’t recognise and Andrew is accosted by someone who’s clearly important and Jesse doesn’t really know where to put himself.

He tries standing awkwardly next to Andrew but the important person keeps shooting him curious looks and Jesse’s sure that she’s going to direct her next sentence at him.

“I’m going to get a drink,” he tells Andrew quietly and steps away, even though the glass in his hand is still full. He keeps walking, no idea where he’s going until he finds some doors that lead outside.

It’s a cold night, but that’s okay. Jesse leans against a stone wall, looking out across a decent sized grassy area, one of those private little parks that dot the city, and tries to steady his breathing.

 _You’re okay_ , he tells himself. _Only a couple more hours of this_. That doesn’t calm him down at all. He’s not sure why he feels so freaked out; no one’s calling him names or blaming him for Andrew being dropped from Spider-man, he just can’t seem to calm down.

 _Fuck_ , he texts to Emma, Justin, Kristen, Aziz, and anyone else who he can send curse words to and who might be near their phone.

 _Take a minute and read your book_ , Kristen texts him back right away. He blinks at his cell, wondering how she knew he’d tucked a book into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It’s a good idea though so he doesn’t freak out about her telepathic powers, just goes with it.

He sits down against the wall, as far into the shadows as he can get and still see, and pulls out his book, planning just to lose himself in a couple of chapters of Iris Murdoch, just until he feels calm enough to go back inside.

Jesse has no idea how long he reads for but when he looks up, he realises that he’s too cold to feel his fingertips and Andrew’s standing over him.

Andrew’s expression is strange, a little fond, a little annoyed, but mostly really sad.

“Sorry,” Jesse says, scrambling to his feet. “I was just - ” There’s no good way to say _you brought me to this event that other people would kill for and I hate it_.

“You’re miserable here,” Andrew finishes for him. He sounds really disappointed and Jesse hates himself a little bit.

“No, no, I don’t,” he lies, tripping over his own protests. He closes his book guiltily, tries to tuck it behind his back but it’s too late.

Andrew gives a shaky sigh. “You do.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I knew you’d hate it but I just, I really didn’t want to come by myself.” He shrugs. “You make everything easier.”

God, now Jesse feels worse. How is that even possible?

“Look, let’s leave,” Andrew says before Jesse can make any more empty protests.

Jesse swallows, guilty and relieved and then even more guilty for feeling relieved. “I thought you had to mingle?” he asks lamely.

Andrew shrugs it off. “I’ll mingle later,” he says dismissively. “All I ever do is come to things like this.”

The way he says it, it sounds like he’s saying more. Like... Oh. Jesse nods stiffly, folding his arms across his chest because he thinks that if Andrew holds his hand right now, he’ll never be able to make himself let go.

If Andrew’s life revolves around these kind of parties and Jesse couldn’t even make it through one, it’s pretty obvious that he’s not cut out for the life of an A-lister’s boyfriend. Jesse feels kind of sick.

They’re quiet on the way home - Jesse keeps wanting to apologise, promise to do better, but that’s not going to happen so he stays quiet. He doesn’t invite Andrew in.

***

The next morning is awful. Jesse keeps replaying last night in his head, wishing he’d done something different, _been_ someone different.

“No,” Emma says, completely serious and giving him a little shake. “No, honey, come on. Andrew loves _you_ and he’s a sweetheart; he’s not going to want you to do something that makes you miserable.”

Jesse shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the accounts ledger as though he’s actually taking any of it in. “You didn’t see him,” he says dully. “I really disappointed him.”

He feels terrible about that, more than anything else. Andrew had wanted to show him a good time and Jesse hadn’t even managed to appreciate it.

“Of course you didn’t,” Emma says brusquely. She glances over when the store doorbell dings but Jesse doesn’t, not until she says, “Hi, _Andrew_ ,” and then he almost falls out his chair trying to stand up and look up and put down his pen all at the same time.

“Morning, Emma,” Andrew says, smiling at her. He looks awful, like he hasn’t slept and his hair’s in tufts the way it gets when he’s stressed and pulls on it.

Jesse knows these things; it shouldn’t be possible that he can know these things and still be such a failure as a boyfriend.

“I... will leave you guys to it,” Emma says and picks up her coffee, disappearing back into the stacks like she won’t still be able to hear every word.

“Hi,” Jesse says, watching Andrew’s face and unable to think of a better place to start.

“I know, I know that you had a rotten time last night,” Andrew starts haltingly. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Jesse shakes his head quickly. “It’s okay. I wasn’t, there wasn’t anything wrong with it. It was lovely. It’s just really not - ” He shrugs, helpless, deciding he might as well be honest. “It’s not me. I can’t do that.”

“I know. And I’m not, I’m not such a selfish bastard that I’m going to make you be with me even though it makes you miserable.” Andrew taps the paper bag he’s carrying against his leg. Then he stops and holds it out to Jesse. “I bought this in London. I was going to give it to you for your birthday but we won’t... This isn’t going to work, is it?”

Jesse swallows hard. He wants to grab Andrew and promise him that of course it can work; Jesse will just get over his issues and be the best date Andrew could possibly want. It’s not true though, so he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling his throat try to close up and not letting it, not right now.

Andrew nods. His eyes are bright and he looks as miserable as he did that horrible afternoon when he came to hide out at Jesse’s. Maybe Jesse should never have kissed him that night; maybe then they’d both be happier.

“Here.” Andrew waves the paper bag and Jesse takes it automatically. It’s a couple of inches thick, rectangular; Jesse knows a book when he feels one and he smiles slightly without meaning to.

“Thanks.”

Andrew nods jerkily. He starts to turn away then stops. “You know,” he says then clears his throat, tries again. “I’m not going to be famous forever. Celebrity’s really fickle and people forget who you are in a couple of years.”

Jesse doesn’t answer. He’s seen Andrew act; no one is going to forget who he is.

Andrew obviously takes Jesse’s silence as... well, something, Jesse isn’t sure what, but it can’t be anything good because Andrew trips over his next words. “If I were just some boy and I’d wandered in here and I’d met you, I’d still... I’d still have fallen in love with you.” He bites his bottom lip and looks at Jesse sort of desperately. “And maybe then you’d have been able to love me too?”

Jesse can’t say anything. He feels like his brain has shorted out and all he can do is open and close his mouth like an idiot.

Andrew’s whole face falls, this little spark that Jesse suddenly realises was hope, dying out of his eyes. “Okay, then,” he says and turns around, walking out of the store without another word.

The quiet ring of the bell sounds like the end of everything.

***

An hour later, Jesse is ensconced in a booth at Justin’s club, cradling a whiskey morosely, even though it’s hours before opening time. He’s considering getting very drunk, but he doesn’t think that will help.

“Okay,” Justin says, pointing at the as-new, first edition, _signed_ copy of _The Clockwork Orange_ that’s sitting on the table in front of Jesse. His hands haven’t stopped shaking since he opened it. “I know I don’t have your appreciation of like, books and words and shit, but this is basically your dream gift, right? The famous movie star knows you well enough to buy you exactly the right thing and yet you let him break up with you over something so stupid as you having one tiny freakout.”

Emma leans over and refills Jesse’s glass. “He said he loved him, too,” she adds casually.

Justin slaps the table. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Jesse, come on.”

Jesse thinks he means it metaphorically, like _come on Jesse, get yourself together_ , which Jesse would love to do, thank you very much, but apparently Justin means it literally because he starts trying to pull him to his feet.

“Where am I going?” Jesse asks.

Justin pulls on his arm again. “We’re going to find your boy and...”

“No.” Jesse shakes his head and sits down hard. “This isn’t a movie. I can’t fix this with some stupid, romantic declaration.”

Emma looks at Justin who looks back at her and shrugs. “Um, dude,” she says, apparently speaking for both of them. “Yes, you can.”

***

No matter what Emma and Justin insist, Jesse isn’t going to try to change Andrew’s mind about him using some stupid, romantic gesture.

Mostly because he can’t think of one.

What he does do is let them get him very drunk and then drive him home. It doesn’t help, obviously, but at least it numbs the gnawing pain throbbing somewhere around his heart.

Despite the hangover, he still wakes up early. The cats are clearly worried, scratching at his closed bedroom door, Tommy’s cry rising above all the others’.

“Oh god, be quiet,” Jesse begs. “I’m sorry. I know you miss Andrew.” He stares blankly at the ceiling. He misses Andrew too.

He’s waiting outside Joe’s cafe when Joe opens up. Joe obviously knows what’s happened because he squeezes Jesse’s elbow and hands him a free cookie along with his coffee.

“Dude,” he says before Jesse can leave. “I just want to say something real quick, okay?”

“Okay?” Jesse says warily. “If it has anything to do with boom boxes, running through airports or declarations of love via flashcards, I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

Joe nods slowly like he’s worried about Jesse’s sanity. Jesse thinks he should be more worried about Emma and Justin’s since those were some of the least traumatic of their suggestions.

“You love Andrew, right?” Joe asks, not waiting for Jesse to do more than nod before he carries on. “Well, I love Emma and like, what we have isn’t perfect but if she ever tried to break up with me for my own good, I would fight like hell to change her mind.”

Jesse blinks. “Yeah, but he still broke up with me,” he reiterates because in his experience, that’s kind of a deal breaker.

“Because he thought that’s what you wanted,” Joe says, waving a hand energetically. “It was dumb as shit which is why you were supposed to fight for him, not just say okay and be miserable for the rest of your life.”

“So.” Jesse frowns. “You, um. What do you think I should do?” He’s not necessarily going to do it, he’s just a bit less numb and bit more likely to listen to other points of view than he was yesterday.

Joe hands him a second cup of coffee and another cookie. “See if you can win him over with caffeine and sweets, okay? It’s how you got him in the first place, right?” He holds the door for Jesse when Jesse follows him across the shop floor, thinking hard. “Just don’t spill it on his this time.”

“Right.” Jesse nods, distracted. “I’ll, um.”

Joe shuts the door in his face. “You can thank me later!” he calls through the glass.

***

No one looks twice at him when he walks across the lobby of Andrew’s hotel, either because they recognise him from coming here with Andrew or because he looks like a crazy person clutching coffee and cookies and they’re too scared to stop him.

Jesse has no idea what he’s doing here really, and no idea what he’s going to say. Which turns out to be a problem when he gets to Andrew’s door and finds he can’t actually make himself knock.

He presses his ear to the door but can’t hear anything - it’s just past eight in the morning, so Andrew’s probably still asleep. Jesse only had three mornings of crawling out of bed for work while Andrew was still asleep, relaxed and cosy under Jesse’s comforter - he’s starting to think that Joe was right; he kind of can’t believe he just let that go.

Instead of waking Andrew up, Jesse decides he can wait, and sits down outside the door, drinking his coffee and nibbling on a cookie, trying to think of what to say.

Hasn’t really gotten anywhere with that by the time he hears someone start to move around inside the door. He jumps up, still not sure he’s going to knock, except his knee decides for him, banging into the door in a horribly unsmooth move.

“Coming,” Andrew calls, sounding surprised and Jesse takes three seconds to contemplate running away but he doesn’t. He grips the cold coffee and remaining cookie and tries to keep his cool.

“Sorry, I didn’t call for - ” Andrew starts to say then visibly checks himself, staring at Jesse with growing wide eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Jesse hands him the coffee and cookie. “You bought me a fantastic, ridiculously expensive gift and I’ve brought you cold coffee and a slightly squashed chocolate cookie. Take me back?”

“Wait,” Andrew says. He scrubs a hand across his face, looking like he’s trying to wake himself up. “Am I dreaming?”

Jesse shakes his head quickly. “No, but can we pretend you just dreamed that very last bit? I didn’t mean to say it like that. My, um. My friends all decided that I needed to make some huge romantic gesture, but I think we can both agree that I’m not very good at public displays of, well, anything.”

Andrew is still staring. “But what are you...? I thought. Do you want to come in?”

Jesse shakes his head. “In a minute,” he says quickly, scared of losing his nerve. “When you said you loved me. I... I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Andrew looks away. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “You’re under no obligation to love me.”

Jesse grabs his shoulder, wanting Andrew to look at him. “But I do,” he says desperately. “So much. I just freaked out the other night. I’m... I have some anxiety issues, you know that, but I thought, I thought you need a boyfriend who can support you at shit like that. Which you do, I know you do, but if you...”

“No,” Andrew interrupts. “I need a boyfriend who’ll put up with how crazy I get when I’m learning lines and who won’t mind that I fly half way around the world a dozen times a year and who’ll...” He looks up, eyes bright. “Jesse, I need you.”

This is too easy; Jesse thought he was going to have to beg Andrew to take him back. “I can do all those other things,” he offers hesitantly.

Andrew looks like he still doesn’t believe he’s awake. Jesse can sympathise. Between them, they’ve been so stupid and wasted so much time; it seems impossibly simple that all they need to do is actually talk to each other to make it okay.

“And will you?” Andrew asks, biting his lip.

Jesse nods.

Andrew kisses him, right there on his doorstep in front of anyone who might be coming down the corridor. It’s not a sweeping, romantic sort of kiss because this would be a terrible place for that; it’s quick and hard but Jesse has no doubt that he means it.

“Are you sure?” Jesse asks, pulling back. “You have to be sure. I’m going to make the worst WAG ever, so you really do need to be sure.”

Andrew chokes on a happy laugh, kissing Jesse again. “I love you,” he says, which isn’t an answer at all.

“Why?” Jesse asks, suspiciously. “Did I get that wrong? WAG is the term, right? Abigail has been teaching me about British celebrity terminology. Why, I have no idea.”

Andrew curls both his hands around Jesse’s and leans against him. He’s warm and heavy and Jesse would be happy to keep babbling forever if this is the result.

“You don’t ever have to come to another industry party with me, if you don’t want to,” Andrew promises. “Well, I mean, if I ever get nominated for some important award or something, it might be nice to have you there, but _that’s_ not going to happen, so.”

“I think I could make an exception for that,” Jesse says quickly, even though he has no doubt that Andrew will be nominated for everything important eventually. He just hopes it’s not for another twenty years or something; maybe awards ceremonies will all be virtual reality by then.

“I love you,” Andrew says again.

Jesse laughs, feeling shaky and much, much happier than he thinks can possibly be good for him. “Stop saying that,” he says, “You’re using it up. It’s my turn now.”

Andrew pulls back. His eyes are bright like they were yesterday in the store, but it’s happiness now, Jesse’s pretty sure. “So say it then,” he says. “Or, wait, don’t.” He puts his fingers over Jesse’s lips. “Come inside with me first? I really do want that to just be mine.”

***

_Two Years Later_

Jesse’s palms are sweating and he can’t quite swallow right.

“Hey,” Andrew says, taking Jesse’s hand across the back seat of the limo and squeezing. “I’m sure I should be the most nervous out of the two of us, here.”

“Yes, maybe, no.” Jesse not-agrees. It’s his own fault, he knows. He’s the one who said he’d come to award ceremonies if Andrew were nominated. In his defence, he hadn’t expected Andrew to be nominated for an _Oscar_ ; at least not this soon.

The car stops and their driver gets out, but Jesse can’t move. Andrew leans over and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“How many books did you bring?” he asks softly.

Jesse pats the inside pocket of his stupidly expensive suit. “Only one,” he says. “I have to pay some attention. I mean, since you’re going to win and everything.”

Andrew beams at him for a blinding second then the driver opens the door and camera bulbs start flashing. His smile fades and his bites his lip. “Fuck, I’m nervous.”

Jesse squeezes his fingers hard. He’s closest to the door so he gets out first, leaning in to help Andrew out, not letting go of his hand.

The camera flashes get brighter but Jesse keeps his eyes on Andrew and Andrew looks back at him and _right, okay_ , Jesse thinks firmly, they’re going to be fine.

/End

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Elton John's This Train Don't Stop There Anymore.


End file.
